


The NSFW Collection

by Jen (ConsultingWriters), Lex (ConsultingWriters)



Series: Prompt Fills [4]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Check on each fill, F/F, It's a whole fic of NSFW prompts, M/M, Porn, Prompt Fill, Sex, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 88
Words: 47,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriters/pseuds/Jen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriters/pseuds/Lex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to popular demand: Tumblr fills, now moved onto AO3!</p>
<p>This collection pertains to all fills that are NSFW. Please heed warnings as they pertain to each fill. More fills can be found through the rest of my 'Prompt Fill' series. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://consultingwriters.tumblr.com/ - This is the guilty tumblr. These fills are all mine (Jen) unless otherwise stated - Lex had a huge part to play in these fills. Feel free to have a glance, and throw more prompts at us.
> 
> My longer prompt fills (ie, those which have multiple parts), 00Q prompts, Sherlock prompts, and Bondlock prompts, can all be found in the rest of the series. I had to differenciate, or I'd lose track of what I'm doing!
> 
> Please see each fill for warnings. I have almost certainly forgotten to write in some warnings, in the melee. Please don't throw things at me, just remind me, and I'll pop them up.
> 
> Thank you kindly to everybody, especially those who have been supporting ConsultingWriters on tumblr, you guys are wonderful. Jen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : Car sex, please? (Q and Bond are together). Thank you <3 - anon

“No, no, no!” Q squealed, batting Bond’s hand away from his groin as they wandered. “I am driving, Bond!”

The double-oh agent smirked wickedly, leaning over from the passenger seat to plant a kiss just under Q’s ear. “Enough!” Q exclaimed furiously, almost losing grip of the wheel as he tried to get Bond off him.

They were on the way to Cornwall for a long weekend; one of Q-branch had a house down there that he let out on occasion to interested parties. Needless to say, the break was long overdue.

“Why not?” Bond asked, still smiling darkly; Q swore like a sailor, as Bond’s fingers danced towards his trousers once again. “You’re a wonderful multi-tasker.

“Not that good,” Q hissed, pushing Bond’s hands away, changing gears as he slowed down through denser traffic. This was going to end so badly.

“Can I have that in writing?” Bond chuckled, stroking Q’s cock through the thin jeans. The younger man made a rather impressive noise, like a cross between a squawk and a burbled groan; Bond was delighted to note that Q was getting hard. Danger, adrenaline – Q was wonderfully predictable from time to time.

“You will get us both killed,” Q assured him, changing lanes, slowing down further – Bond seemed intent on annoying him, so damn it, he wouldn’t appeal to Bond’s boy racer instincts. “Truly, Bond. On a list of your Bad Ideas this has got to be one of the… oh my god, what the hell was that?!”

Bond had squeezed him in a way he knew Q loved; Q made a series of strangled noises. “Enjoying yourself?” Bond taunted, popping open the top button on Q’s trousers one-handed, slipping a finger under the waistband of his underwear.

“Are you really going to do this?” Q asked in a strangled voice, groaning as Bond flicked a finger over his cock and his hips shifted forward slightly.

“Yes,” Bond replied, not missing a beat, slipping his hand further into Q’s jeans. He wrapped his fingers around Q’s rapidly hardening member, pumping him lightly; Q gave a whine, eyes turning slightly foggy.

“Right!” Q said suddenly, eyes scanning the road ahead; there was a turn off coming up, down what appeared to be a narrow country lane. He indicated, took it; the road was thankfully deserted, the noise and rush of the main road still immediately audible.

Q was by now fully erect, the thrill of the situation starting to get to him, yet pathetically grateful for no longer being at risk of killing them both. The moment the hand-break was on, Q rounded on Bond with ferocious intent, kissing him messily as he tried to undo his seatbelt, hands everywhere. Bond’s hand was still wrapped around his cock, teasing him mercilessly. Q whined into his lover’s mouth, bucking unashamedly into his hand.

“Backseat,” he gasped; he didn’t bother opening the door, simply clambering over the seats inelegantly and landing in a heap. Bond couldn’t mimic Q’s actions, not with his build; he kicked open his door, almost tearing off the bloody handle getting into the back.

He whistled out an appreciative exhale at the sight of Q, lying back on the seats with hand around his cock, thrusting into his fist with a whine. His other hand sought Bond, tugging him closer, letting Bond topple onto him, Bond’s hand moving to his own erection.

More. He needed more. He kissed Q possessively; Q gave a slight whine as Bond grabbed Q’s wrists and flipped him over, pinning his wrists against the window and exposing parts of his gorgeous back. His trousers were slipping; Bond growled in the back of his throat, Q writhing in his hands as Bond grasped at the Vaseline Q kept in the seat door.

Bond yanked down Q’s trousers and underwear, exposing his pale arse, slapping it; Q’s body vibrated with want as Bond coated his fingers in Vaseline. Had Bond been a slightly different person, he would have made Q wait, made him beg; Bond, however, could honestly say he needed this just as much as Q.

He placed a slick finger against Q’s entrance, pressing lightly. He pushed inside, finding no resistance, letting another join it just a little too soon; Q moaned, completely incoherent and just how Bond liked him. Q’s hips shifted back, seeking more, forcing Bond deeper.

Bond shivered slightly. He loved Q like this, wanton and desperate and whining for contact. The air outside was cold, their heavy breath turning the windows misty, as Bond flicked his finger in a way that made Q actively cry out. He was a deliciously noisy lover, quite unlike his usual, refined self.

Bond’s hands still held Q’s wrists firmly; Q bucked in his hands, needing something, anything more. Bond loved this. The novelty value of being with another man still hadn’t fully worn off. He had been with a few men in his life – school experimentation that was practically a rite of passage, one university tryst, and topped off with the good Quartermaster.

“More…” Q begged, another finger sliding easily into the ring of muscle. “Please!”

Bond nodded mutely, the unusual pleading tone in Q’s voice proving to be almost too much for his libido. Three fingers; this would be a stretch for Q, but not impossible, nor too painful, and in either case, Bond wouldn’t – couldn’t – wait any longer.

Bond sat back, finally letting Q’s wrists go; the younger man was perfectly malleable, kissing Bond sloppily as Bond pulled him around, making Q straddle him, his own trousers barely out of the way.

Q’s rangy, tall frame brushed against the car roof, head contorted to fit properly, hands around Bond’s shoulder, kissing Bond again and again as Bond positioned himself, hands around Q’s arse.

Bond pushed Q down onto him; slightly dry, slightly too tight, but still incomparably good. Both of them moaned; Q’s fingers clutched Bond’s shoulder a little too tightly, Bond hissing in abrupt pain and refusing to move until Q released him, Q’s lips finding him blindly, apologising.

Bond paused; Q took a moment to adjust, before Bond started thrusting teasingly. Part of him did want to drag it out, but god, Q felt good; Bond thrust deeper, harder, Q riding him with his head wrapped around Bond’s neck, sucking livid, dark marks into Bond’s neck.

Q’s slim fingers shadowed between their bodies, grasping his own cock and pumping at it; he gave a strangled yell as he came, wrecking both of their shirts, Bond’s trousers, the backseat. The orgasm ripped through Q’s body, tightening around Bond’s cock, tipping into his own release.

Q dissolved on him, making Bond do all the work, slipping out of Q’s body as the boy smiled dizzily. The windows were, by now, completely opaque; Q traced patterns in the condensation as his expression returned to its usual acerbity.

“Good start to the weekend,” Bond commented lightly, watching Q’s post-orgasmic gaze of disapproval crystallise.

“You have got to stop doing that,” Q shrugged. “Semen is a nightmare to get out of the seats.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: post-injury, mid-recovery sex (injured Q preferred, but injured Bond is always nice too). Been sick recently and have been in the mood for fluff in general. Thank you! :D - anon

“Are you sure you’re not in pain?”

“Let me assure you that you will be shortly, if you keep on bloody well asking me,” Q griped. He was dosed on quite a lot of painkillers, to be honest. All he asked was that Bond didn’t ask him to do too much of anything that may strain the tender skin of his barely-healing burns.

He kissed Bond rather passionately, ignoring the wrench of pain; Bond leant him back, keeping Q’s weight off his burns, refusing to let his occasionally idiotic partner overexert himself.

Q had been trying to hack into a laptop, when the thing exploded at him. Q had been more annoyed than anything else. This demonstrated many things, not least that Q truly had no conception of his own physical state, especially when said physical state was compromised.

Bond rolled his eyes, as Q continued to explore him with unparalleled eagerness. “Please?” Q asked, eyes wide, batting slightly.

“Not buying it,” Bond told him. Q hissed, tried to move; Bond pinned him down, shifting onto his knees. Q’s eyes widened; Bond had never even vaguely _insinuated_ before that he would…

Bond raised an eyebrow, and reached for Q’s button. “Bond, are you sure?”

“Are you in pain?”

“… no?”

Bond rolled his eyes, and smirked, tugging at Q’s trousers. Q was, hilariously, getting harder by the microsecond; Q was interested mostly for the novelty value, for the enjoyment, and admittedly for the slight power kick of seeing _James Bond_ on his knees. He didn’t want Bond to be uncomfortable, more than anything else – so he placed a gentle hand on Bond’s head, questioning, curious.

Bond winked, and his mouth closed around Q.

Q made a bizarre noise. Bond chuckled, sending shivers through Q, mouth parting slightly as he gasped, and Bond started to turn everything inside out.

He was surprisingly good, for somebody who – _by his own admission_ – was new to it. True, he’d received more than most men. Q was still pleasantly surprised by how well it translated into his technique.

Q whined, bucking slightly; the moment he moved, Bond stopped. “What?!” Q wailed at him.

“Don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to _kill_ … oh _god_ , do that again,” he gasped. Bond smirked, and continued what he was doing, stepping things up, doing rather well. Not technically the best. But for god’s sake, it was James Bond. Q would have forgiven him _anything_. Except maybe teeth. That would just be unpleasant.

Bond was continued as he was doing. He had found a way to keep Q still, the threat of stopping far more effective than even any threats to his equipment.

He decided he should probably never use his powers of manipulation for evil.

He was entirely right. The world wouldn’t stand a chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00q prompt stolen from kinkmeme (unfilled): Q might have the button-up proper kind of look but he's actually, well, kind of a slut. And in commemoration of this new job he makes it his personal goal to sleep with every single double-0.One certain agent decides he isn't have having that... - anon

Q has a certain type of smile that he unleashes on the unwary. It tends to work like a charm; the right slant of mouth, quirk in the corner, and it is easy to take people apart.

Q has always loved taking things apart.

-

009 is the youngest, and consequently the easiest to get into bed. Q has to make only a token effort, before the young man is fucking Q awkwardly, with considerably less finesse than Q had hoped for from a double-oh agent. He wanted somebody with experience, who could be truly _interesting_.

-

001 is a very dangerous man, more so than most other double-oh agents. (There is a notable exception, but that is for another moment). Q gasps when 001 enters him; he is brutal, and brilliant, and Q moans happily, and comes with a gasp. 001 looks quiet and sated, and Q smirks to himself. This is child’s play.

-

007 asks Q out for dinner. Q can honestly say he’s surprised; but 007 is another who will need to be ticked off, so he agrees with his most flirtatious smile.

Bond kisses him at the door, and walks away.

That is a first.

-

003 is exactly what Q expected; eager for a relatively normal shag, without strings attached. She smiles coyly, believes she has successfully seduced Q – failing to grasp that it is the other way around – and they spend the night at her flat. She is _gorgeous_. Q doesn’t regret it, although does begrudgingly concede that it is just not as _satisfying_ as with men.

-

007 interrupts Q’s attempts to seduce 004. It is going remarkably well’ Q is a few well-placed comments away from a shag over his desk, when 007 walks in looking like several thunderstorms combined.

“Q?”

Q abruptly stops his flirting repartee with 004, who looks rather disappointed. Bond shoos 004 away with all the terror the man can command, and turns on Q. “You’re working your way through the double-oh agents, aren’t you?” Bond hisses at him.

“And?”

Bond pushes him against the wall, kisses him bruisingly. He covers every inch of Q’s body in a microsecond, leaving the boy panting for breath, eyes sparking with want. “You stop this, now, or you don’t get me,” Bond tells him.

Q’s pupils are unbelievably wide, swallowing all suggestion of green. “Sorry?”

“You heard. You can have every single other double-oh, but if you do, you don’t get me,” Bond growls, teeth grazing Q’s ear, making the young Quartermaster whine; Bond was _glorious_ , oh god. He understood. He _definitely_ understood.

-

Bond opened the door. Q leant on the doorframe, his smile surprisingly genuine. “Hello Bond,” he said lightly, and walked into Bond’s flat.

Bond chuckled, and shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's probably cliche', but could there be a 00Q fic where it's Q's first time? Thanks! - anon

Q laid back, Bond lavishing kisses over Q’s body, letting the younger man run mad with want. “ _Please_ ,” Q whined, hips bucking upwards, pleading for contact.

“Patience, Q, you’re usually good at that,” Bond chuckled; Q was rapidly reaching incoherency, while Bond’s mouth traversed Q’s lithe frame.

“James, _fuck me_ ,” Q gasped at him, pulling Bond closer, pressing their bodies tighter; Bond’s erection dug into his thigh, Q’s long fingers moving to close around it, gripping with maddening lightness.

Bond knew Q had no experience with this aspect of sex; they had discussed how to handle it, of course. It was difficult to cling on to any thought whatsoever when Q was writhing and begging beneath him.

Divesting one another of clothing took no time at all. Q moaned lavishly as Bond’s slick fingers circled his hole, slipping the tip of one inside; Q barely seemed to notice, sucking at Bond’s neck, being an immense distraction as Bond pushed slightly deeper incrementally.

“Shh, Q, I need to be careful with you,” Bond murmured; Q obediently calmed slightly, letting Bond work absolute magic.

A sudden spark of pleasure made Q jump involuntarily; Bond suppressed a smirk with difficulty, flicking his finger in the same way, Q letting out an incoherent whine. “James, _James_ , I know you want… but _god_ , shit, just… _please_.”

Bond chuckled, pushed in another finger. Q moaned obscenely; Bond’s vision was half-swimming with want, stretching Q carefully. “I’m done, please James,” Q moaned, gasping, eyes flying open, at the third finger.

“You’re done, hmm?” Bond chuckled, before forcing some severity into his tone. “We move slowly, Q.”

Q nodded mutely, still gasping lightly. Bond slicked himself with his other hand – the other still inside Q, stroking his prostate and inducing embarrassing noises from his Quartermaster – and shifted Q’s body back, lifting Q’s leg and letting it twine around his shoulder.

“What’re you…?”

“I’d like to see you, Q, through this” Bond purred, skimming kisses over Q’s lips lovingly. “Is that okay?”

Q nodded, swallowing hard, pink lips parted as he looked up at Bond. He looked shockingly young suddenly, his smile shy and sweet, pupils blown wide, breath coming in sharp bursts.

Bond gently moved downwards.

Q’s noises – long since disintegrated to babbling – become almost shocked. Bond moved with slowness that was frustrating for both of them; Q repeated _James_ with ever mounting desperation, Bond sighing out _Q_.

“ _Move_ ,” Q rasped, filled more entirely than he had known possible. “Oh _god_ , James, please _move_.”

Bond was past the point of sarcasm or sharp commentary; he juddered his hips back, before sinking forward again. Q breathes with him, against him, smiling at Bond at the novelty, the brilliance of it all. A completely new experience, and jesus, Bond was good at this.

It was quite a quiet experience, at least to start off with; their breathing fogged the windows, until both started to tilt closer to orgasm. Q’s breathy _faster_ was enough to make Bond see stars; he obliged, struggling to keep his own heart beating steadily.

Q shrieked Bond’s name as he came; the ripple of muscles sent Bond over the edge too, and the pair crumpled completely. Bond slid out of Q’s body, slumping next to him with a soft smile. Q looked completely out of it, was happy to curl in Bond’s arm when coaxed.

“Thank you,” he breathed against Bond’s chest. Bond just kissed him on the crown of his head, holding him close to him, and let them both slide into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you please write a fic where Bond gets really jealous at the bar when Q and another man flirt and he reminds Q just who he belongs to..M rated, please? :) - anon

Bond gave a sharp growl, pinning Q against the wall, kissing him with ridiculous possessiveness. Q scrambled for air as Bond’s hands roamed his body, sliding a hand beneath his shirt, under his trousers to cup his arse.

“What brought this on?” Q panted, keening as Bond nipped sharply at his clavicle, tongue tracing lines down the sensitive skin of his neck. He could feel goosebumps erupting over his skin, his body thrown from nothing to everything in the space of microseconds.

Bond’s mouth swallowed Q’s moans; Q felt Bond’s erection digging into his thigh, his own already long since responsive. “You were flirting,” Bond snarled; he shifted his hand around to Q’s cock, palming him with merciless precision. Q choked on air, eyes rolling backwards slightly, straining for more.

“Was _not_ ,” he rasped, Bond barely letting him start speaking before kissing him again. Q gave another frenzied moan, bucking into Bond’s hand shamelessly.

“I know you were,” Bond told him; the tone of his voice, low and lethal, sent another rush of want through Q. “You’re _mine_ , Q. You will not forget that.”

Q has always adored this side of Bond. The possessive, dangerous, angry streak. He often did things to provoke it; his flirtation at the bar was intentionally calculated, and a small part at the back of head felt unbelievably smug.

Most of him was painfully aroused, and more concerned with what Bond was doing to him.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Bond yanked him backwards by the collar, bending him over the edge of the sofa, hands working at his belt. Q whined, wanting Bond to touch him again, trying to find friction on the sofa edge, rubbing his hips rhythmically.

“None of that,” Bond told him, and slapped his arse, hard. Q blinked, stopped moving. Oh _god_ yes.

His reaction was very encouraging; Bond did it again, hard slaps making red marks on Q’s arse. “James, _James_ , fuck me,” Q rasped between hits, dancing on a fine edge of pain and pleasure and moaning at it, more desperate than he could recall being.

“Again,” Bond told him. “Beg for me. _Just_ me.”

“Please please _please_ ,” Q wailed between hits, his arse feeling hot and sensitive, needing Bond inside him more than he could describe.

Blissfully, Bond didn’t seem too inclined to argue; Q sucked the fingers Bond slid into his mouth, coating them in saliva. He wasn’t surprised; Bond was hardly going to stop now to find lube.

Bond’s fingers pushed into him with surprisingly gentle motions; Q shifted upwards, taking him deeper, taking a sharp inhale as Bond pushed in a third finger a little too quickly. “You can take it,” Bond soothed, lips brushing Q’s ear. “Come on, my Q, take me.”

Q was almost speechless, relaxing to let Bond move more confidently, the pain fading quickly as Bond grazed his prostate. “More,” he whined, hips gyrating. “ _James._ Please, _please_.”

Bond spat into his hand, rubbed himself; he didn’t want to hurt Q, regardless of how angry his flirting had made him. He the back of Q’s neck, lined himself up, very gently easing himself in.

Q’s body became suddenly tense, before deliberately relaxing. Both of them sighed deeply, letting one another adjust, before Bond pulled back and snapped his hips forward again. Q gasped, Bond groaned.

“You will remember that you’re mine,” Bond told him, Q nodding frantically as Bond set up a harsh, deep pattern. “ _Only_ mine.”

“Yours,” Q confirmed, letting Bond fuck him into oblivion, hands tight around his hips. “ _Yes,_ James. Yours.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry to bother you, you can even ignore me if you want, but I have a craving: Q and Bond having very, very, very loud sex at work and everyone listening, but no one interrupting because Bond has been on a mission for too long and if they do they'll probably end up dead. Thanks. - anon

Moneypenny walked into Q-branch to find everybody very, very busy and very, very red. Q’s office door was shut. Presumably they had all been ticked off about something or other.

Then she heard it.

Moneypenny’s eyebrow arched.

“R, is that…?”

“Double-oh seven just returned from a two-month mission,” R burbled, as fast as he could physically manage to speak, still looking intently at a screen that had had no developments for the last hour and a half. “We were warned at gunpoint not to interrupt.”

“Gunpoint?” Eve asked, with mild amusement; she could actually imagine it, Bond storming in looking like hell incarnate, informing Q-branch that Q was not to be disturbed. “When did this start?”

One of the minions looked at her watch. “Nearly two hours. Noise levels have fluctuated in that period, but it seems they’re… erm… happy to be reunited.”

That was grimly understating matters. Q was screaming Bond’s name like a banshee, Bond peppering the cries with loud grunts of his own.

Moneypenny listened to the somewhat disconcerting sound of the Quartermaster of MI6, and the most prolific agent in MI6 history, orgasm in tandem. Nearly two hours. She couldn’t help but be impressed at both of their stamina, Bond in particular; he had an excellent sex drive, but he was getting on a bit.

She waited in Q-branch for a while, helping distract the still-blushing Q-branch minions as they tried to calm down.

Bond walked out looking completely unconcerned with the proceedings. Q looked thoroughly fucked, breathless, hair sticking up in ridiculous directions. “Progress reports on my desk in ten minutes,” he said, with as much decorum as he could muster. “Bond, speak to M concerning your debrief.”

“Yes Quartermaster,” Bond purred; Q’s smirk was absolutely _filthy_.

Moneypenny restrained a smile with extreme difficulty. “You enjoy yourselves?” she asked, in a tone that informed Bond that _everybody_ knew just how much the two had enjoyed themselves.

Bond, to his credit, didn’t so much as blink. “Immensely,” he replied calmly, and walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG Could you please do another 00Q fill where everyone is ridiculously multilingual? I'm rather obsessed with languages. ^^' (Also if you could fit Finnish in there somewhere that would be an excellent bonus). - anon

”Jumala, kyllä _…_ voi hyvä _jumala,_ ” Q cried, in Finnish, _oh god,_ as Bond’s fingers brushed his prostate, prepping him carefully; Bond didn’t so much as blink. ”Vittu kyllä…”

Q had no idea why. It was one of the small quirks of his life; whenever he reached any state of physical pleasure that was too extreme for English to adequately convey, he started diving through languages with unintentional dexterity.

Most of his partners found it odd. Bond, however, who was busy inspiring Q to wail _proszęproszęproszę_ repeatedly, three fingers gently stretching him out with achingly gentle touches.

“Me veux-tu?” Bond purred; he chose French for sexual encounters instinctively, although was rather enjoying the scenic tours of various languages. Q nodded, hips wriggling for more contact, wanting to feel more of Bond inside him. A flash of Spanish, a more demanding language: “Ruego me,” he ordered, stopping any movement, pinning Q’s hips against the bed so he couldn’t move.

Thus ensued the widest selection of languages Bond had ever heard from one person in one consistent babble. Q didn’t merely beg, oh no; he pleaded, in what Bond strongly suspected was alphabetical order of countries.

“Min fadilak James, lisää, bitte mehr, per favore James, James, _James_ …”

James positioned himself above Q, both legs hoisted onto James’s shoulders. “Xứng đáng khong?” he taunted, head resting against Q’s forehead, Q keening against him with appalling, desperate want. _Do you deserve me?_

Q looked at him, breathless, a ferocious intensity in his eyes that Bond found utterly and entirely beautiful. “Yes,” he breathed back, so bright, so beautiful. “I do.”

Bon’s breath caught in his throat. He obligingly started pushing; the babble of noise from his younger lover stilled and stopped with a gasp, Q’s body adapting quickly to the intrusion.

“Nekončí!” Q cried at him, _don’t stop_ , hips again wiggling to inspire movement. Bond smiled gently, kissing Q to swallow the sounds, hips lifting, a small, experimental thrust forward making Q gasp against his mouth.

“Riahm,” Bond told him simply, _never_ , and listened to the various languages that poured from Q like water, communication on the most basic and fundamental of levels, transcending their usual language barriers and into the realms of ‘whichever language seems applicable in that moment of time’.

“I love you,” Bond told him simply, later, when Q was half-asleep against him, dozy and sated. English had always seemed the most truthful language to love in. French was flirtation, Spanish demanding, Chinese imperious. His grasp of love in English was immediate and perfect.

“I love you too, cariad,” Q murmured back, and the pair slid into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the late thanks for your fill of “Drumming Song” based prompt, it’s gorgeous! *sends her love* So I have another one, if you don’t mind. Song-fic again, implying some nsfw~ Maroon 5 - “One More Night” based fill sounds pretty promising. Thanks! And take care~ - anon

The sex was always merciless.

Bond fucked Q harshly, brutally, and Q ordered him to keep going, harder, _faster_ , until it had to hurt, until Q was screaming and Bond was cursing fluidly, and they both finished exhausted and angry and hurting and defensive, and came back for more within a few weeks.

Q needed somebody to take him apart, to blind him to every passing day. There was too much; he saw, did, too much. The responsibility weighed into him, and he _hated_ himself sometimes for the things he did, the things he had to do. The hatred festered into loathing, with no escape, no atonement or even a way to forget.

He didn’t like being dominant with Bond, and didn’t want to be. He wanted to be hurt, because when Bond hurt him, he _could_ forget. Dysfunctional, certainly, but he didn’t care in the slightest because Bond was happy to give it to him.

Bond just had anger, so much anger. It lived under his skin, a tangible entity, something trying to force its way out every goddamn day, and Q showed him a way to let it out. He painted his resentment, his anger, over Q’s body; he cherished the angular, sharply verbal fighting Q threw up, the way it was never a simple matter.

Submission needed to be earned, domination needed to be won.

They went to whoever’s flat was closest. They almost always slept over, but never in the same bed; one would sleep on the sofa. Q tended to keep the bed, simply because there were several times when they finished with Q unable to move much.

One night, several months into their impromptu arrangement, Q let out a strangely broken cry, and kissed Bond properly, halfway through, kissed him like Bond was his oxygen, cheeks wet with tears, fingers raking through Bond’s hair as Bond continued to make the bed slam into the wall with the force of his thrusts.

They never kissed. It was just something they’d established early on. They had never kissed before, and certainly not like that.

Bond didn’t know what to think.

Q didn’t mention it again, and neither did Bond. Kisses became part of the arrangement, just because.

Another few months. Bond fell asleep in the same bed as Q. Their bodies didn’t touch. Neither made any real note of the other’s presence. They woke in the morning, Bond leaving first, Q following about ten minutes later. He’d learned how to conceal the faint limp he tended to have after their sessions.

“Try not to get shot,” Q says, with a thin smile and a green gleam, and Bond nods, smirks, leaves.

When they were back together again, a fortnight later, Bond realised he didn’t want it to end. He realised, in almost the same heartbeat, that he was frightened for his young Quartermaster, the masochistic young man who egged him on, skirted them both long past anything they should find acceptable on a regular basis.

When he tries to talk about it, Q shuts him down: “Can’t you just accept it for what it is?” he asks sharply, and doesn’t elaborate, ignores Bond until he backs down, and they talk fairly amicably about subdermal trackers and the possibility of nanotechnology in said trackers.

They had never said anything about a relationship, or love, or anything more; it was an arrangement, and it worked.

Bond woke one morning with Q’s body twined around him, seeking him out in sleep; it felt oddly nice, like they were managing _something_ correct in the proceedings. As with all these things, they never mentioned it again.

It just became somehow okay. Bond brought Q lunch when the younger man was overworked. Q curled in and on and around Bond’s body when they slept, never meaning to, but not caring enough to stop it. They kissed, allowed themselves moments of stillness within the psychotic frenzy of one another.

They never talked. They just were.

It had to be enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> may I just say that, good god, your nsfw fills are rather hot and fucking great and wow I would love to read more. Could we perhaps have Bond rimming Q because I don't need a reason shhh it would be hot and that's enough of a reason, right? - anon

Bond’s mouth was simply unbelievable. Q was prepared to swear, to his dying breath, that there was nothing on the planet more dextrous, more brilliant, more multi-talented and understated, than Bond’s mouth.

Good god.

Bond’s lips, teeth, tongue knew where to press, where to lick, nibble, bite. The unbelievable skill of it. Q could whimper in a surge of semi-pain as Bond bit down, translating to frankly impossible pleasure in seconds as his tongue and lips caressed the same square of skin.

Bond laughed against him, the low rumble vibrating over the sensitive underside of his cock, where Bond’s mouth was pressed open, tongue laving a path down the heightened vessels.

Q was being gradually reduced to incoherent burbling, as Bond’s strong hands twisted him onto his front. Q sighed happily, waiting for the familiar press of Bond’s fingers against him, inside him.

He hummed with satisfaction, the noise turning half-feral as – instead of the slick, lubed fingers he had been expected – moist warmth started dancing over his hole.

The noise Q made was a spectacularly long way from eloquent, but suited purpose all the same. Bond took that as an encouragement, circling the rim of Q’s hole with light but confident strokes, the tip of his tongue playing at his entrance.

“James, oh _god_ ,” Q moaned, Bond’s hands keeping him carefully pinned to the bed, spread wide. Q wanted to speak, he honestly did, but coherent speech was probably a little ambitious, as Bond’s tongue gently probed inside him.

The noises caught at the back of Q’s throat. He had no idea what he had done to deserve somebody like James, somebody who could both drive him to explosive temper and a whimpering mass, but really, he didn’t see the point in arguing. If Bond had decided he wanted to be here, Q was definitely not going to stop him.

The obscene things Bond was doing with his tongue distracted Q entirely from the tip of Bond’s finger sliding in. He didn’t even notice until Bond pulled it out again, leaving him feeling empty. “More,” he told James, smugly pleased with himself for managing even a single word by this point.

Bond obliged, another finger sliding in to join the first. “Do you want more, my little Q?” he asked in a soft purr, lifting his head slightly as his lover’s body squirmed beneath him.

“James, you absolute _bastard,_ stop now and I swear I will make your death really fucking creative,” Q panted, wailing outright when Bond’s fingers pulled back, leaving him cold and empty and inches away from outright begging.

“Language, my dear Q. Ask me nicely.”

Q had dignity, once. He was relatively sure of that. But when Bond’s fingers and tongue managed to work _together_ , one finger just barely inside while the other traced patterns across his perineum, he decided that dignity was really fucking overrated.

“Please,” he rasped, and let Bond take him apart.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i dont know why i have this idea, haha but um. one day before they go to work bond puts a vibrator in q, and it has a remote control so bond turns it on at random times throughout the day. and um. i dont know, q ends up having a wank or they end up having sex somewhere in M16, hah you decide. (oh god, this is my first smut prompt, haha i hope it isn't anything too weird) - anon

If it hadn’t been quite such a temptingly brilliant idea, Q would have discarded it as the most irresponsible thing possible to do in work. Bond had little to no grasp of responsibility, but did know how to angle a thin but surprisingly powerful vibrator to absolute perfection.

Bond had not established parameters for the game, but Q was aware that there would be repercussions should he attempt to remove it, or affect any of its workings. This was Bond’s game, and to be quite honest, Q was a long way from objecting.

The first wave came unexpectedly, in the middle of a meeting with M. _You bastard,_ Q thought to himself, as he inadvertently gasped. He was going to _kill_ Bond for this, as spikes of pleasure thrummed through his spine, Q biting his tongue, cock twitching in his trousers.

Mouth dry, he glossed over the tiny noise he’d made, answering questions while very slightly shifting.

Bad plan. Bad, bad, _bad_ plan.

Q had never wanted a meeting to finish quickly so badly in his _entire life_. This was excruciating. Bond left it on for several minutes, Q sweating slightly as he continued to resettle himself as subtly as he could feasibly manage.

M brought the meeting to a close, and Bond flicked off the vibrator. Q cursed several gods at once, started to muse about how to construct swear words from their Latin origins in the hope of finding novel ways of cursing Bond, and walked out of M’s office almost normally.

Bond was busy for most of the day; he managed to attack Q with the vibrator another three times over the course of the day, usually while Q was trying to talk to other people.

When Bond finally entered, Q shut the door with a bang, pinned Bond against the wall, and kissed him hard enough to draw blood. “You _bastard_ ,” he breathed into Bond’s mouth, keening as Bond switched on the vibrator again, to a newly high level.

Bond grabbed him by the collar, _lifted_ him bodily, twisted, slammed Q against the wall where he had been a microsecond before. “You belong to _me_ , Q,” Bond growled at him, hand travelling between their bodies to palm Q through his trousers. “If I want you desperate for me, you _will be_ , no matter where you are, what you’re doing.”

The vibrator went up a notch or two, Bond clutching the remote in a fist beside Q’s head, while Q strained his hips forward for more contact.

“It is so easy to take your control,” Bond murmured to him, playing with settings, Q practically sobbing as Bond pinned him flat to the wall. “My Q.”

“Yours, James, yours,” Q said techily. “Now please, _please_ …”

“A little more like it,” Bond admitted wryly, hand squeezing; Q whined. Bond would never tire of this, of taking a young man like this to pieces. His Q. “Less of the attitude, however.”

“I’m yours, James, I know, please _please_ …”

Bond obliged; he ducked under Q’s waistband, fingers tightening, moving in confident strokes, as the vibrator went to its top setting. Q lasted an embarrassingly short amount of time, Bond dropping the vibrator to cover Q’s mouth as the younger man _screamed_ out a rather conspicuous orgasm in his own office.

Q prayed his soundproofing would hold.

Panting, Q became fluid in Bond’s hands. Bond kissed him carefully, bundling him into an embrace as his knees buckled. “Are you alright?” Bond murmured; Q nodded bonelessly, still struggling to get oxygen.

“Are you?” he managed.

“You can make it up to me later,” Bond said simply, with enough promise to make Q swallow abruptly. Good day. This could be chalked up as a _good day_. “For now, my dear Q, you have work.”

Q gave an irate whine. “Sod that, I’ve got better things to do.”

Bond switched on the vibrator. Q, intensely over-stimulated, hissed in pain; Bond turned it straight off again. “You will do your job, then come home,” Bond told him firmly; Q blinked. Whatever he had done to deserve somebody like Bond, he really hoped he would keep on doing it; Bond even grasped how important his work was. From time to time.

“Good plan,” he conceded, as Bond helped him up, deposited him in his desk chair. He was a mess. He did, however, have tissues in his desk. The situation was retrievable.

“I’ll be waiting,” Bond smirked, and shadowed out the door, leaving Q, still the vibrator in him, and Bond, still with the bloody remote.

_Bastard._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you do one where q has this "thing" where he likes to wear kinky lingerie under his clothes...just because? Feel free (and by feel free I mean please please please) NSFW, just a bit? I feel weird asking....going to go contemplate what this means about me.... - anon

“So, Q, how’re you doing?”

“Quite alright, Bond. If you would make your way back to the MI6 building, and more specifically Q-branch, I may be able to show you something… of interest,” Q purred, enjoying how Bond’s breath became every so slightly more laboured.

There was a generalised code they both had, and really, with Q’s tone of voice, there was no doubting it.

Bond doubled his speed; Q only agreed to sex in the MI6 building when he really, _really_ missed Bond. It had been nearly three weeks, after all.

Q smirked, and drank his tea.

-

“So,” a nonchalant Bond asked, standing in Q’s doorway; he glanced up and down his young lover, shutting the door behind him with a loud _click,_ soundproofing them from the outside world, Q shutting off every camera in the vicinity. “What is there of interest to see, dare I ask?”

Q blinked languidly, his smile delectable. “Find it,” he said clearly.

Bond had a quick, cursory glance around the room. He would be very surprised if there was not something on Q’s person. He sidled closer, reading for any signs, met with the cocky quiet Q was so perfect at capturing. “My dearest Q. What _have_ you been up to?”

Q’s smirk was wicked and full of promises; Bond growled, hands sliding over the familiar planes of Q’s body. He reached around to cup Q’s arse; the very slight inhale gave Q away.

Bond’s hands moved back up the waistband, before heading beneath.

“And what is this?” Bond asked, eyebrow raised. Q met his gaze without flinching, lips very slightly parted as he drew breath, pupils dilating. “How very… slutty of you, my dear Q,” Bond murmured in his ear, teeth grazing the shell, as he played with the mesh underwear that really, barely passed for underwear in the slightest, Q’s cock growing harder with each calculated brush.

The young man gave a startled yelp as he was pushed onto his knees. “If you’re going to wear something like that in the workplace…” Bond intoned, challenging, and checking. Q could duck out if needed, but to be honest, Q looked like he was certainly  enjoying the situation as it stood.

Q’s dextrous hands fiddled around his belt for a moment, before sliding the trousers down slightly, revealing Bond’s cock through substantially less exciting underwear. He didn’t wait to be told before tugging them gently down, and pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Bond’s cock.

Bond jerked involuntarily. “I want to see you,” he rasped. “Trousers off, lets see what you’re wearing for me.”

Q slinked to standing, but not before a sharp suck to the tip of Bond’s cock; he hissed slightly, unapologetically stroking himself as Q stripped in front of him.

The sight was spectacular. Q, wearing nothing but exceptionally revealing underwear, stood in front of him. Bond waited for precisely four seconds before kissing Q with enough force to near knock him over.

“Welcome back, 007,” Q rasped to him; Bond chuckled in his throat, and refused to let Q go.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a smutty, m-rated fic featuring Dom!Q and Sub!Bond. In the fic, I'd like to see Bond handcuffed to a bedpost and Q hitting him with a riding crop and denying him orgasm multiple times, finally concluding with both them orgasming together. :) you write the BEST 00Q fics, by the way! - anon

Q looked unbelievable.

He had divulged himself of the cardigan; his white shirt was mostly unbuttoned, slim-fit black trousers hugging his form perfectly. Bond couldn’t help but stare at the perfect white skin, smooth and elegant, like the boy himself.

The riding crop also added a certain je ne sais quoi to the proceedings.

Bond was conventionally stoic, when it came to pain. He rather took pride in his pain thresholds. Q, however, managed to merge pain and pleasure with such phenomenal skills that really, it was practically an art form, and far more effective than any tortures Bond had come across.

To be honest, Bond would have sacrificed most of the Western world to orgasm.

Q delivered a harsh, stinging blow to Bond’s inner thigh, a little too close for comfort, and Bond gasped frantically. Q was not the type to talk, to monologue; it was an odd circumstance. Bond knew what Q was waiting for, and Q had no interest in wasting breath.

He exuded control in an understated way, clever fingers brushing and squeezing, while the other arm aimed the crop with ruthless precision. Bond was relatively certain he would not be sitting normally for days, and he _loved_ it, handing over control to the most unlikely of places because of all people, Bond trusted Q.

Q leant over him, bit hard into the junction between shoulder and neck, and Bond grunted; Q’s tongue ran over it again, a tantalising little dance, and Bond was being driven _insane_.

“Q…”

The blow was far harder, making an immediate welt rise; with a harsher crop, it would have split the skin. Bond hissed in pain. “ _Please_ ,” he rasped, as Q taunted him closer to orgasm, before pulling him harshly back again. “Please, please, _please_ …”

Q still didn’t say a word, and that in itself was intoxicating. He just waited, eyebrow raised eloquently. Bond wanted a word, a single syllable, that gorgeously rich voice he adored so much – but then, that was the point. Denying Bond everything he wanted. Keeping the shirt on, still concealing aspects. No words, no voice.

This was Q, making Bond _want_.

 _“_ Q, _please_ ,” Bond managed again, hips straining, while the rest of his body arced away from the crop.

The crop was placed delicately next to Bond; he couldn’t reach it, hands fastened in quite an impressive series of knots to the bedpost. Credit where due, Q was quite extraordinarily _expert_ at this.

Q’s mouth traversed Bond’s body, pulling and pushing gently, coaxing Bond back onto the bed, letting him lie on his back; the position twisted his wrists, but Q had left enough slack to allow a change in position without compromising the security of the bonds involved.

Bond, therefore, was in perfect position to watch his boyfriend masturbate in front of him. Bond – who had been keening for orgasm for the last half-hour – could only curse in a series of creative languages, in his head, as Q’s thin hips bucked into his own hand, and Bond forgot how to breathe.

A generalised thought occurred concerning whether it was going to _actually kill him_ to be this hard, for this long, without relief. Q hadn’t even resorted to toys; he was judging Bond’s responses perfectly, noting the tremble of closeness and backing off quickly, refusing to even touch him if he was close.

Now, he straddled Bond’s legs, and gasped – his only noise – as he started bringing himself off. It didn’t take long; Q whined, coming in a series of stuttering motions, painting Bond’s thighs.

Bond was incoherent.

“My James,” Q purred, so quiet, the words barely voiced and yet deafening, in the wake of Q’s utter silence; Bond was reduced to disjointed whines, Q’s hand tightening around his cock properly, the strokes confident and expert.

Within three strokes, Bond came, harder than he could recall in his life, literally blinded for a long moment as Q milked everything out of him, leaving him wrung-out and hollow and utterly dazed.

Q’s kiss was shockingly soft.

“Are you alright?” Q asked gently, detaching Bond’s wrists from the headboard with only minimal effort. Bond nodded, letting his young lover twine around him, both exhausted and more than sated.

“Thank you,” Bond murmured, after a few minutes of silence, Q’s breathing steady and comforting, Bond’s heartbeat a measured fact.

“Believe me, James. It is my absolute pleasure.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG. I love your prompts. See, I have this one in mind. I want one where Q acst/flirts like a slut, and everyone on MI6 thinks he is the easiest of lays, but in reality, he´s a frustrated virgin in need of getting rid of his v card. Bond thinks Q is a slut too, so when they get to it, he is very surprised to see that in reality Q´s a virgin. (Hardcore sex? Pretty please?) Thank you!!! - anon

Q’s slim body draped easily over practically _everything_. Bond had yet to see the boy without a coy half-smile, head down ever so slightly, so every glance was made through long eyelashes.

Really, he exuded sex and passion and intimacy. It was the common legend in Q-branch; Q, the kid who was willing and able to sleep with anyone and anything, any time.

Bond truly couldn’t resist, and quite frankly, didn’t want to. Q was simply divine, slim hips sashaying closer, an unbelievable temptation. He asked Q out for dinner, and the boy accepted without hesitation.

They wound up twined with each other on Bond’s sofa less than twenty-four hours later.

Merciless, Bond’s hands pinched and squeezed and caressed, mouth everywhere at once, Q straining beneath him. Bond had to agree with the assessment that Q was a little bit slutty; he whimpered, actually _whimpered_ , for more touch, clearly desperate and wanting.

Bond smirked, kissing Q with the kind of passion he reserved for those who could take it without being overwhelmed; there was stimulation everywhere at once, Q almost _crying_ as Bond worked at him.

“I’m going to make you _scream_ , Q,” Bond promised, Q hard against his hip, hips gyrating rhythmically. “You have no idea, I swear, I’ll take you apart.”

Q whined; Bond wrapped his arms under Q’s shoulders, hoisting the younger man into the air. It was a good thing Q was so light; Bond had no trouble conveying him to the bedroom, dropping him with a _whoosh_ of air, Q’s expression mildly petulant at the loss of contact.

Bond was back in a heartbeat, dragging Q’s cardigan off his shoulder, popping buttons open on Q’s shirt to reveal the expanse of white skin beneath, untouched, so _beautiful_. His mouth latched to Q’s nipple, nipping, sucking them into hard mounds. Q writhed delectably beneath him, his own hands exploring Bond with semi-confident movements.

Q’s trousers were undone easily, Bond slipping his hand under Q’s underwear to close around his cock. Q, oddly, went utterly quiet; he breathed, lips parted in a silent _oh_ , eyes wide and almost shocked.

Bond stroked a few times, fingers dampening with pre-come, Q’s pupils utterly blown.

“James,” he rasped, palms against Bond’s shoulders, pushing gently. “James, hold on a moment.”

“Are you alright?” Bond growled in his ear, hand trailing around to cup Q’s bare arse, forefinger brushing over Q’s entrance.

Q nodded frantically. “It’s just,” he gasped, as Bond’s fingers probed a little more, the tip just managing to breach him. “… James, this is my first time.”

Bond stopped. “What?!”

“My first time,” Q said smugly, arse shifting to coax Bond’s hand back, plead wordlessly for more. “Felt you should know, before…”

“But you’re…”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me since we _met_ ,” Q growled. “I’ve spent every second trying to convince you I’m not some wilting flower; don’t try and lie, don’t pretend you wouldn’t have acted differently, hmm? Just please, James, _fuck me_ , and make it _good_.”

“You’re sure?”

Q wrapped a hand in Bond’s shirt, yanked him in for a stupidly bruising kiss. “How many times?” he snarled, hips still bucking slightly. “You’re the great 007, sexual master extraordinaire. Now please, just, _fuck me_ , please.”

Really, Bond couldn’t help but oblige. He grappled for lube in the bedside cabinet, ordered Q to take off his trousers – Q doing so with notable enthusiasm – slick fingers returning to their careful exploration of Q’s entrance. “Oh _god_ ,” Q mumbled, as Bond slid a finger inside.

Q keened slightly, as Bond’s finger deftly explored; a slight bend, and pleasure spiked through Q’s spine. Bond smirked at Q’s reaction; now he was looking for it, it was patently obvious. Through the bravado, there was the wide-eyed shock of new experience, of speechless pleasure.

He mercilessly finger-fucked Q for a minute or two, bringing Q close to the edge before abruptly stopped. The rush of obscenities was really quite impressive. Q hadn’t seemed to even register that he was now comfortably accommodating three fingers; that was rather the idea, but it was a nice thing for Bond’s ego to know he could loosen Q quite so effectively, without discomfort.

Bond kicked off all his clothing with record speed, lashing kisses over Q’s naked body as he did so, noting Q’s appreciative hum at the sight of Bond’s erection. “You wanted to come across slutty for me, hmm?” Bond asked, waiting for Q’s answering nod. “Honestly Q, you didn’t need to try so hard. I would have had you like this regardless.”

“Less talk,” Q rasped; Bond chuckled, lined himself up, gently pushed inside with as much care as he could manage.

“Are you alright?” he whispered in Q’s ear.

Q, breathless, closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said simply. “Now _move_.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I read one of your possessive!Bond prompts (which was absolutely amazing :)) and now I have a craving, so… Not a follow on, but just another possessive!00q please >:) - anon

“You know,” Bond growls, nipping sharply against Q’s collarbone, making the younger man gasp. “I could mark you properly. Make it far more apparent that you’re _mine_ , and nobody else’s.”

“Not overwhelmingly professional,” Q replied breathlessly, kissing Bond back with keening passion, Bond worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “ _God_ , James…”

“The other double-oh agents appear to believe you’re on the market,” Bond snarled, hand groping Q mercilessly; the younger man hadn’t quite expected it, the sudden rush of contact making his eyes roll back for a moment.

Q sighed, hips bucking forward. “Yes, but I’m not, obviously,” he replied in an unconcerned drawl; if Bond knew Q was playing him, he didn’t seem unduly worried. He wrenched Q off the wall, ignoring the papers and crap over Q’s desk to bend the younger man over it.

He landed a harsh, stinging slap to Q’s backside. “Are you _kidding_?” Q yelped. “Really, Bond, _spanking?!_ ”

Bond reached around to Q’s waistband, tugging the trousers down to his knees; the second hit made Q gasp, torn between indignation and arousal. He was _in his office_. True, his door was very tightly locked and soundproofed, but that didn’t stop the fact that his branch were _just outside_ , as Bond delivered another harsh slap to his arse.

Q let out a wanton moan, and Bond hit him again. His breath grew quicker, cock growing interested _despite_ the indignity. In fact, the indignity was _really_ part of the appeal. “You won’t be sitting down for the rest of the day,” Bond told him; Q whined, the hits surprisingly hard. His arse would be bright red at this rate.

Bond kissed the back of his neck, sucking a deep purple-red brand into the side of Q’s neck, delivering another harsh hit to his arse. Q whined. This was going to be a nightmare to explain.

Alright. Fine. He wasn’t going to explain a goddamn word to anybody. His cheeks, his arse, were both hot and red.

James. He belonged to James.

And James wouldn’t let him forget it for a moment.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was wondering if you could write a 00Q fic where Q and Bond role play and Q calls Bond daddy? Idk if you do anything like that and feel free not to fill it if it’s not something you’re comfortable with! Thanks! - cherikfan

Q’s eyes were bright, sparkling in the dim light. “Daddy,” he breathes out, full of wide-eyed want and innocent pretext.

They had discussed this in quite resolute detail. To say Bond wasn’t strictly comfortable would be grimly understanding the proceedings; until he’d ascertained that there were no father issues to speak of, nor anything else untoward, the entire scenario was off the table.

Bond had ultimately conceded that there was no reason why not. It turned him on, but in the same way that non-consensual roleplay did; he loved it, certainly, but there was a part of his conscience that shrieked about everything wrong with it.

The conscience was tempered more than a little bit by the sight of Q, sprawled over the bed, sheet haphazardly covering only slight parts of his body; he looked delectable, the most forbidden temptation, and Bond allowed his mind to slip into the game. It was easy to forget acquired concerns, when abandoning oneself to the scenario.

“Naughty boy,” Bond tutted, walking slowly around the bed, the boy’s eyes so large, betraying the slightest of flushes on high cheekbones; he’d been caught, hand wrapped around himself. “ _Filthy_ boy.”

“I’m sorry daddy,” the boy says quietly, plump lips slack. “Daddy, _please…_ ”

“No,” Bond says harshly, the boy taking a little gasp, almost tearful. They have had this discussion before; no, he will not, no matter how hard the boy begs. He leans forward, presses a kiss to the boy’s lips. “Touch yourself,” he orders.

“ _Daddy_ ,” the boy gasps, setting a pace, keening for anything from the man above him. “ _Please_ , just… something, please…”

The point of incoherency; Bond lets out a wry smile, raising his eyebrow at the furrowed brow, the unbelievable want of the boy. He trails his fingers down the boy’s bare chest; so pale, so small, so utterly breakable.

He closes his fingers around the boy’s weeping erection, and he cries out _daddy!_ like a prayer, a plea. Bond kisses the boy’s face as he strokes gently, gaining speed, the friction perfect. The boy will not last long; indeed, he comes very quickly, spurting across the sheets with a wail, body twisting, head nuzzling against Bond’s legs.

“Good boy,” Bond soothes, stroking the soft, curly hair. “Such a good boy.”

\---

Bond couldn’t help the surge of appalling, wicked want. His Q, as he had seen so many times before, and yet somehow subverted in the context.

The frail, milk-hued shoulders, the silky supple bare back, the ebony head of hair, the tiny dark-brown mole on his side. With awe and delight, he saw the lovely indrawn abdomen where his southbound mouth had briefly paused; those slim hips on which he had before kissed the crenellated imprint left by the band of his trousers. He was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Bond hadn’t been able to release his hold of the memories. Q’s deeply pink lips murmuring out for him. _Daddy_ …

The shudder ran through Bond’s spine, the base of his neck down to his tailbone, skin erupting in needlepoint prickles. God, but he had been beautiful. A glass rose; delicate and gorgeous and easily shattered, and so entirely at his mercy.

Q now was just settled back at his laptop, skin luminescent in the light off his computer. He glanced over at Bond, twisting his torso like a flower seeking the sun, face open and almost honest, tinted with the suggestion of sexuality on a face Bond could only see as so immensely young.

He knew. He looked at Bond, and knew what he was thinking. Long eyelashes curled ceilingward, the pale eyes guarded by languid blinks. His smile was very subtle, suggestive and manipulative.

Bond’s breath was snatched out of his throat as Q murmured “daddy?”, in a devastatingly soft voice. He asked for nothing, merely teased with the words, with the tone.

This had been Q’s initiative. Bond couldn’t believe how hard he had fallen into the idea of it, of taking this ephemeral, elegant creature – somebody who needed him, depended on him – and teaching, loving, possessing.

Q wanted it so much, so badly, and Bond could give it to him.

The boy hummed, shoulders rolling faintly as he straightened. He didn’t need to speak; Bond could hear him, the voice, the eloquent murmurs. Being coerced into sex was just _gorgeous_ , when conducted by somebody as subtly brilliant as Q.

Bond’s fingers played through his hair, kissed him with delicate perfection while the child whined beneath him, gasping for more. “Have you been good, little one?” Bond growled, teeth trapping his ear.

“Yes,” came the hiccupped reply, the boy’s eyes unbelievably wide. “ _Please_ , daddy, yes…”

Bond’s hands traced down his beautiful form, and rewarded him for being _such_ a good boy.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have a thing for your nsfw fills and top!Q… could you please makes these two things coincide? - anon

Q panted slightly, lips and eyes and body pressing into Bond’s, imprinting himself entirely. “So,” he murmured, teeth grazing over Bond’s ear. “James, I want to fuck you. Interested?”

Bond groaned slightly; he was achingly hard, and wanted Q intensely, more than he knew possible. He had wanted to be with Q practically since meeting him, since – more accurately – seeing Q in Q-branch. _I invented them._ From that moment, Bond had known he was dealing with something entirely different from anything he’d known before.

Now, Q’s hands trailed across his body with confident, eloquent motions. For the first time in his entire life, Bond was less experienced; he could take women apart, sexually, but in terms of men, he knew nothing beyond a short tryst in university.

In the aspect of male sex that Q was suggesting, Bond was, in fact, a virgin.

How very bloody ironic.

Bond lifted Q bodily, hoisting him over the edge of the bed. Q smirked, hands around Bond’s arse, squeezing, making Bond whine slightly. Q hadn’t known Bond was _capable_ of such noises.

They divested themselves of clothing with breathtaking speed, Bond’s tongue running lines over Q’s body, straining for further contact. Q’s eyes were bright and wide, and gently questioning; Bond nodded once. Yes. Yes, he wanted to. Yes, he trusted Q enough. _Yes_.

Q smiled, kissed Bond again, lightly. He slid hands over Bond’s underwear, teasingly brushing the hard length; he tucked his fingers around the waistband, pulling off the tight pants. He hadn’t imagined that underwear of Bond. Something new to catalogue.

Bond moaned as Q’s fingers brushed, pressed, pulled, pushed. There was such glorious brilliance to his movements, sensual and intimate, quite unlike anybody Bond had been with before. Q took control, knew what he was doing, wonderfully experienced.

Lube appeared out of nowhere, Q’s fingers slick and gentle, coaxing. The heat was incredible, both of them feeling set alight, skin burning against one another, searing them together.

“Relax,” Q murmured, finger just breaching. Bond couldn’t quite believe he was doing this; his role had been subverted, and more bizarrely, he was enjoying it more than he realised was possible.

It felt wonderful. Bond had no concept of how extraordinary this could feel, how it could be. The sensations were exquisite, Q’s fingers managing to crook perfectly, spiking unbelievable want through Bond’s body. “Oh, _fuck_ …”

“In a moment,” Q purred, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Bond’s skin, a third finger sliding it easily. “How’re you doing?”

 “Good. Now go,” Bond rasped. “Want you.”

It was all the encouragement Q could have needed; both of them moved into position relatively organically, kicking the duvet awkwardly out of the way, Bond growling, wanting Q inside him again, feeling disconcertingly empty.

When Q pushed inside, both of them stopped breathing for a moment. “Oh god, oh my _god_ ,” Q moaned, eyes rolling back slightly. “James, _jesus…_ Are you alright?”

“Yes, _fuck_ , just… _Move_ , Q,” Bond rasped, rolling his own hips slightly, trying to encourage his lover. “ _Please_.”

Q obliged, targeting Bond’s prostate mercilessly, their bodies melding. Both could safely say it was unlike anything before; Q was practically overwhelmed by the sensations, and Bond just couldn’t believe that this could be so enjoyable. The novelty of it.

“Thank you,” Bond murmured afterwards, Q’s body wrapped around his. Q just snorted; there was nothing to thank. He kissed Bond passionately, communicating everything without a syllable to show for it.

Bond fell asleep with Q’s head on his chest, every inch of skin pressed together. Contact.

\---

Q was distantly wondering whether every single one of his birthdays and Christmases and celebrations in general had all come at once, and why on earth nobody had thought to warn him, given the decent probability of something rupturing.

Bond looked obscene. Glorious. Impossible.

He was straddling Q’s hips, with three fingers inside himself, twisting, opening in gentle motions that made Bond groan, and Q literally _whine_. “James…”

Bond leant down, fingers inside himself, kissing Q deeply and gasping as he brushed his own prostate. Q remained still, half-paralysed, watching the truly incredible sight of James Bond working himself open in front of him.

Q couldn’t recall having _ever_ been so hard.

He remained mostly speechless, as Bond lined himself up; Q tried to move, and Bond’s hand abruptly scooped his wrists together, pinning them in place. _Oh, dear god_.

Bond kept Q’s wrists firmly trapped, other hand gently curling around Q’s cock, lining it against his slick hole. Q let out a soft noise, restraining the urge to buck his hips upwards, instead finding all the breath leaving his body in a firm exhale as Bond lowered himself down, impaling himself on Q’s cock.

Q groaned frantically, keeping himself still through sheer force of will. “You alright?” he asked Bond; he was still mostly new to this, to this aspect of sex, and while he was showing a ridiculous enjoyment in the entire affair, it was still new and Q was very wary of hurting him.

This was Bond, experimenting. For himself, for Q.

Honestly, Q _loved it_.

Bond rolled his hips a little, making Q whine; his hands were abruptly free, allowing him to grapple for Bond, hold onto him, his own body moving despite his best efforts. He shifted a little, and Bond let out a low, echoing groan.

Q did it again, just for luck.

Bond took over; he moved up and down, riding Q gorgeously, muscles straining in a way that took Q’s breath away all over again, so beautiful, so impossibly _perfect_ , amazing, just, _fuck_ , it felt good.

Establishing a rhythm was easy; Bond found the angle that worked with alarming speed, moving delectably slowly, before Q let out a wanton wail and he sped up a little, taking pity.

Q was aware that he was going to come embarrassingly quickly. He tried to think himself out of it, but Bond felt _incredible_ , and pleasure was building in a tight knot of want, so much want, Q pushing himself in deeper, harder, in tandem with Bond’s movements.

To Q’s unending shock, Bond managed to come first. He hadn’t realised the other man was so close.

Judging by Bond’s expression, he hadn’t realised it either.

Every muscle around Q’s cock abruptly clenched; Q let out a strangled shout of shock, coming hard into Bond’s body, fingers tight around his hips, clinging onto him like a lifebelt.

Bond pulled off, collapsed to one side. “Good?” he asked Q, panting a little.

Q was still seeing stars, but managed a little, gasping nod.

Fuck, _yes_.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a nsfw prompt, a kinky one you can ignore if you like. Here goes. Bond and Q like to roleplay/pretend that Q is a virgin though he isn’t anymore. It just is the most exciting thing to do for both of them - Q loving the submission and the giving himself to Bond and Bond loving this aura of power, vulnarability, trust. Q is all nervous and wriggly and Bond is soothing and caring. Can be explicit or more of a character/emotion study. All consent and happy/fluffy please? Oh thank you! - tracionn

It was mostly about the trust, ultimately.

There was something untouchably perfect about their scenarios. Q allowed himself to be taken over completely by somebody else, revelled in the touch and the feel of James, both pretending it was his first time, each time _feeling_ like a first. Each moment was exciting and new.

Q gave his body over to somebody else, Bond teaching him where to touch and feel and press and taste, the touches gentle and explorative, not demanding. Bond was gentle in a way he never usually had cause to be, taking Q’s fragile form between his hands, trusted to not break it in any way.

Bond felt Q’s soft gasp as his fingers breached, very careful, letting the younger man adjust; he played a little, letting Q squirm, the boy whining slightly when Bond refused to give him more.

Q could have done any number of things. He could have pinned Bond back, demanded more. Could have railed or fought, could have remained his usual flippantly sarcastic self.

The entire point was that both took this moment to _not be_ who they usually were. Bond had to be careful, Q had to be vulnerable. They had to protect one another, a perfectly balanced formula, both escaping themselves with one another.

Bond prepped Q with careful motions, deliberately concentrating on Q’s pleasure, rather than his own. Q was being driven towards ecstasy, peppering kisses across every area of Bond’s body he could reach.

A myriad of emotions played across them; Q’s flash of fear as Bond helped him lie back, Bond’s attempt to reinstate his usual cold mask and treat Q like any other lover, both struggling to let go.

Bond pushed into Q’s willing body; the younger man let out a soft cry, Bond’s body tensing as the sensations overwhelmed him. “I’ve got you,” Bond murmured into Q’s ear, the younger man gasping for air. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Q replied, so impossibly, entirely honestly. “James, _yes_.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 00Q prompt: James and Q are having sex (maybe Q riding James?), but it’s interrupted when Q’s cat jumped on the bed and just curls up on James’s chest—he hates cats in general, but Q’s cat loves him, and it ends up funny and sweet. - anon

Q was straddling Bond’s hips, body moving up and down, Bond’s hips helping give him momentum as he was thrust upwards, moaning as Bond’s cock hit his prostate again and again, whining as he ground down further, Bond’s voice choked with want as he called out Q’s name.

The end was in sight; Q’s eyes rolled back slightly, almost incoherent, suddenly crying out as he came close.

Beneath him, Bond suddenly yelled, and swore manically; Q was pushed off him, indignant and choked with utterly _desperate_ want, while Bond started swearing at R.

R was their cat. Their cat who, for reasons best known to herself, had decided that _now_ was the moment to leap onto Bond’s chest, and settle there.

“That _fucking cat!_ ” Bond roared, as Q felt the mood rapidly dissipate, groaning as he felt his orgasm rapidly recede. Bollocks.

R, meanwhile, seemed quite content to curl on Bond’s chest and _stay there_.

“We have to close the bloody door, this is just getting _ridiculous_ ,” Bond ranted, trying to pry the cat off him, while still not hurting the sodding thing – Q would never forgive him if he hurt the _goddamn_ cat.

Q sighed, leaning over to pet R. His arse was slightly sore, and the mood had entirely gone. Bond gesticulated helplessly at the cat, moaning at the sheer bloody unfairness of it all, while Q started to find it quite funny instead. “We’ll shut the door,” he giggled, as R started purring.

“Not to mention that it’s _R_ , I keep imagining  _actual_ R appearing in bed…”

Q whacked Bond viciously round the back of the head; R was quite young, very pretty, very female. Bond apologised, still smirking regardless. “You’d better be nice to me, Mr Bond,” Q told him softly, running a thumb across the top of R’s skull. “You won’t like me when I’m cross.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, kissed him deeply, while R settled happily, apparently there to stay. “Your two favourite things,” Bond grinned, looking at the cat.

“Yes, only one of those things was cruelly interrupted by the other,” Q sniffed without malice, Bond feigning being offended at Q preferring sex to James himself.

Q laughed, nuzzled against Bond’s shoulder, hand idly playing in R’s fur, the cat in question looking nothing short of utterly satisfied.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re willing: Q is really loud and expressive in bed but it’s drove some lovers away. He thinks James is the same way so he tries to be quiet but James actually loves to hear his bed partners. The louder the better. - anon

Bond fingers moved in gentle, teasing motions, Q letting out a stuttering moan, shifting for more. He bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back the noises, unable to fight the groan as electric pleasure shot up his spine.

Q kept his mouth occupied as best he could, marking his lover, burying his face in Bond’s shoulder to muffle the noises he instinctively made, aware that he didn’t want Bond to be put-off. _God_ , it felt amazing though, Bond expertly managing a third finger with no discomfort whatsoever, thumb pressing against Q’s perineum and making him wail despite himself.

“God Q, you have a gorgeous voice,” Bond coaxed. It was patently obvious that Q was desperately trying to hold back; the reasons why didn’t matter. Bond loved hearing Q’s collected, rounded tone shatter with want, the younger man stifling a keen as Bond’s fingers withdrew. “Do you want me, Q?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Q whimpered, trying to shift over Bond, needing more, achingly hard.

Bond stopped him, keeping Q in place for a moment, lining up with Q’s entrance tantalisingly. “Tell me, Q. I want to hear you. Every bit of you.”

Q’s eyes were gorgeously wide, shocked. “Please,” he rasped, lips dancing over all areas of Bond he could reach. “Please, _please_ , fuck me, fuck me James, I…”

Bond pushed inside Q’s body with a deep groan of his own, while Q gave a stuttering, cascading wail. “Oh god, _god_ , fuck James, jesus, just…” he managed, in a long strung-out sentence, Bond smirking contentedly as Q finally let go. “James, more, _please_.”

Bond obliged, pulling back before snapping his hips forward mercilessly; Q’s eyes rolled back, the noise an oddly frantic gurgle. “ _Again_ ,” Q cried, Bond murmuring encouragement into his ear in a low rumble, telling him how beautiful his voice was, how much he _loved_ hearing Q’s cries.

So Q obliged, yelling out for James again and again, moaning as Bond targeted his prostate with merciless precision, screaming fit to wake the dead as he came hard, hips shuddering, contracting around Bond and pushing him neatly over the edge. Bond could have laughed at the unbelievable _volume_ of the boy; Bond’s ears were vaguely protesting, and he _loved_ it.

Afterwards, Q’s silence juxtaposed perfectly, sleepily sated, head nudging Bond’s chest. “Noisy thing,” Bond purred, dropping open-mouthed kisses to Q’s pale skin. “ _Gorgeous_ noisy thing.”

“You don’t mind?” Q asked, expression hesitant.

He smiled, as Bond leaned into him. “I revel in it,” he growled, nipping a dark mark into Q’s pale throat.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW prompt, hope that’s all okay! Bond’s away, Q’s feeling a little edgy and evidently missing him. Bond left a shirt at Q’s flat (that blue one he wore during the tests with the British Monarch insignia on it?) and Q uses it to masturbate. Maybe Bond catches him halfway through? Or maybe Q calls him during? Aha, just write whatever, your writing is amazing ;u; - anon

Q padded through the flat, tension threading through his shoulder muscles; Bond had been gone for weeks, his mission sending him into deep cover. Q had been able to intermittently contact, but he did miss Bond more than he could say.

He found Bond’s shirt hung over the doorframe, smelling of him, the heady scent of cologne, a tang of whiskey, the underlying hum of Bond’s own scent. Salt and texture and musk. It was gorgeous, sent a spike of want through Q’s body as he held it close, inhaling it.

His cock twitched desperately in his trousers.

Q shifted into the bedroom, found his phone, rang Bond. It was three in the morning in China; Bond should have been in his hotel room, alone. “ _James_ ,” he said, in a tone that was all breath, all want and lust.

“Q?” asked a very sleepy voice.

“ _God_ , James,” Q whined, breathing in the collar of the shirt, unbuttoning his jeans with one hand; he liked days off, having access to comfortable clothes, getting sexually frustrated and calling his secret agent boyfriend to wank down the phone into one of his favourite shirts.

Q told him as much. Bond nearly choked. Q just let out the soft whimper he knew Bond adored, kicking the jeans away to push into his fist. “James, I wish you could see me like this,” Q rasped, eyes flickering as his hips moved rhythmically, feet flat on the bed, pushing his hips upwards. “I’m waiting for you, I need you home, _god_ …”

“That’s just not fair,” Bond said in his low rumble; the familiar wonder of Bond’s voice made Q whine, hand clenching slightly harder, thumb brushing over the head, smearing precome. “Q, I’m in China…”

“I noticed,” Q gasped, and squeezed slightly, cursing under his breath, eyes widening, letting Bond hear every hitch as he pressed the shirt around him, informing Bond that he was inches from destroying the shirt.

Bond didn’t seem to mind tremendously. Unless Q was very much mistaken, Bond had also started masturbating. “Imagine, Bond. My hand around you, making you desperate,” Q panted, aware that full sentences were rapidly falling out of his grasp. “ _Fuck_ , I mean… James, when you get home, I swear…”

“I will be pinning you to the bed, my dear Q, and fucking you until you scream,” Bond said, in his honeyed tone, sounding utterly implacable about doing so.

It proved too much for Q. With a soft _oh_ , almost of surprise, he breathlessly came into Bond’s shirt, streaking the fabric with viscous liquid. He collapsed back, body boneless, smiling dreamily as, not very much time later, he listened to Bond come with a stifled shout.

“Gotcha,” Q murmured to him, feeling very smug. “Don’t forget about me, will you, Bond?”

“I miss you too,” Bond quipped drily. “I need sleep. I’ll speak to you in the morning?”

“I should think so,” Q replied with a soft smile, voice fading as Bond moved to hang up. “James?”

“Yes?” the reply came, in a lightly amused tone.

“I _do_ miss you,” Q told him, feeling like an utter idiot for admitting it. Bond was not the type for overwhelming romantic gestures, as far as Q knew thus far. His surprise couldn’t be surpassed when Bond replied, with startling honesty:

“Q. I miss you, more than I could say. Now go clean up; I liked that shirt.”

Q laughed. “Goodnight, James,” he said fondly, listening to the soft thunder of Bond’s chuckle.

“Goodnight.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love your fills, so here’s a 00q nsfw prompt: James wants to embarrass Q. James starts giving Q a blow job under Q’s desk when M walks in to talk to Q. M can’t see Bond so he continues playing while Q tries to keep his composure and concentration while M is giving Q a long speech. Love yoouuu - anon

“James, _James_ ,” Q whined, as Bond slid onto his knees in front of him, body sliding into the footwell of Q’s desk while his head started to explore between Q’s legs. Underwear and trousers halfway down his thighs, Q let out a soft, frantic moan as Bond sucked the tip of his cock sharply, a rippling shudder running through Q’s body.

Q whined. “This is _such_ a bad idea…” he breathed, shifting forward on his chair, giving Bond more room to run the blade of tongue down the underside of his erection, Q’s moans turning shivery.

Which was of course, of bloody _course_ , the moment M chose to rap smartly on the door of his office, and walk in without invitation. Q tried to kick Bond off him as subtly as he could manage; Bond just dug fingers into Q’s thigh to keep him still, and swallowed most of his length in one deft movement.

Q kept himself from shouting out with sheer force of will, shutting his eyes momentarily instead. “We need to discuss the Middle-Eastern crisis…” M began, with the intensity of somebody who’d been worrying about things for a while.

Q set his microphone system to record; he had an odd suspicion that he wouldn’t be able to repeat a word of this conversation by gunpoint. Bond sucked gently, tongue curving around the underside of his length, Q’s forcing so much effort into not responding that his vision, hearing, _everything_ was shorting out.

He was going to _kill_ Bond for this.

A subtle suggestion of teeth, and Q let out the faintest of strangled whimpers. M, blissfully, didn’t seem to notice. Q concentrated on staring at M oddly, not listening to a word, nodding when it seemed appropriate as the man _kept on talking_ , and Q just desperately, passionately prayed that he would bloody well _leave_ , so Q could start fucking Bond’s throat in some form of revenge.

M was still gesticulating wildly, as Q’s head wrapped around the back of Bond’s head; with a thin smirk, Q pulled him forward, making him take Q deeper. Q felt Bond consciously relax; Q felt the soft moan as vibrations around him, fingers knotting in Bond’s hair. He couldn’t thrust into the man like he wanted, but _damn it_ , he could still keep some form of control.

It was almost too much. Q realised, with a sudden rush of near-panic, that he was about to orgasm in front of his boss. Sudden, desperate images of everything unpleasant – mostly to do with air travel – flashed in front of his mind, while his mouth worked on autopilot, following social cues to agree with M in the right places.

Bond bobbed over him, making more of an effort than Q had ever seen; Q would _definitely_ not let him forget this, would make sure he made an effort like this _every_ time from now on.

“Yes; I’ll review the current data. I’ll come up to your office later with the full analysis,” Q said, hoping some part of him was subtly conveying _fuck off_ with immense fervour.

Bond’s moan vibrated around him again; Q just _knew_ Bond was jerking off under the table. For fuck’s _sake_.

“That’s no problem; I’ll have Eve email down the current briefs,” M nodded. “Thank you for your attention, Quartermaster.”

“A pleasure,” Q managed. M finally, _finally_ left, shutting the door behind him; Q had enough control left to automatically lock the doors, before pushing slightly away from the desk, hand still in Bond’s hair.

It took exactly five thrusts before Q came, painfully hard, down Bond’s throat; Bond swallowed unapologetically, lips swollen, looking immensely smug as he finished bringing himself off, thankfully having the foresight to use a handkerchief and _not_ come all over Q’s floor.

“You are in deep trouble,” Q panted, body feeling utterly fluid.

Bond just snorted, wiping his mouth, propped up against Q’s desk as the afterglow faded out. “Promises, promises,” he muttered, grinning, as Q’s expression split between a glare and smile.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I absolutely adore your fics! If you have time could you please write a smutty Bond/Q/M with sub!Q? – anon

They had agreed on it together, been very adult, very intelligent. M and Bond were aware of their responsibility; Q was a very young sub, M and Bond were both highly experienced and rather possessive doms. They needed to have established safewords, scenarios, for all three parties.

Q looked extraordinary.

Naked, hands tied behind his back, blindfolded. Bond had prepped him beforehand; he was hard, wearing a thin cockring. Bond smirked; he happened to know that Q also had a black plug in him, keeping him stretched, ready for his doms to take him.

When M reached a hand down, stroking down Q’s cheek, the younger man made a little noise and nuzzled into the contact. Bond and M were silent for a moment, appreciating the sight, letting Q’s breath stutter as he waited for something, _anything_.

“Are you ready, little Q?” Bond asked, breaking through the odd quiet; he was Q’s original dom, knew Q better than anybody ever could.

Q’s sigh spoke of contentment, excitement, want. “Yes sir,” he murmured, head shifting slightly, trying to gauge who was where. Nobody spoke, nobody touched him: “ _please_ ,” he whimpered faintly, shattering the silence.

M’s fingers traced down the young sub’s body, Q arcing towards the touch; Bond’s hand in his hair tugged him back, keeping him in place. “Position,” Bond said simply; Q stretched forward languidly, almost feline, arse shifting upwards, the rest of his body against the carpet.

 _Ten_ , Bond mouthed to M, passing the riding crop. M didn’t speak; he revelled in being the unseen power, the force, the movement behind matters. He lived under a name now that wasn’t his; it was what he stood for, the strength of ‘M’, as a role, a concept.

Q knew that. The first stroke made him cry out; there had been no warning, his body buckling unexpectedly. The next ones were easier; he whimpered faintly at each, seeking comfort. It was an important aspect, for Q; the pain blurred his brain slightly, in the most basic sense. Diverted his concentration in that moment, that second, with pain and the promise of care and comfort. It didn’t even need much, just enough, to get him into a different mindset.

M’s hands were soft on his back, tracking across the thinness of Q’s body, while Bond retained the right to kisses, to drawing out soft gasps from Q’s lips. M and Bond exchanged looks, carefully working in tandem; M’s fingers closed around the plug in Q’s arse, while Bond’s hand slid to Q’s erection, gently stroking, tantalising.

Q’s inadvertent moan was surprisingly loud, in the otherwise quiet of the event. For Q, it was glorious; no sight, mostly quiet, just the sudden breaking of his own gasps, his own frantic sounds, the swish and crack of the crop against him. If it weren’t for the hands, too-many hands, warm, a marked contrast to the harshness of the crop, he could have been alone.

He was losing concept of location, time.

They would look after him, and he would make it amazing for them. It was simple. Everything, just for a little while, was _simple_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q have pretty rough, passionate sex by default. But anytime Bond gets a bit too near death, they instead make love to each others. - anon

“ _Harder_ , Bond, I’m not made of fucking _glass_ ,” Q told him, heels tugging Bond closer, deeper, harder.

He keened, breath catching in his throat, as Bond’s hips snapped against him, grip bruisingly hard, the pair taking one another apart as Q bit down on the junction between neck and shoulder, Bond growling.

They fucked until Bond was yelling and Q was screaming, tearing down walls with their dual cries, working in counterpoint, pain and breathless, blinding want. They collapsed back, bodies melding by default, sated and buzzing with adrenaline, eyes light and alive.

-

That was the usual.

-

Bond walked into their flat, bruised and bloodied, finally released from Medical after over a week. Q looked strung-out; energy fizzling behind his eyes, body drawn with tension, dark rings indicative of the sleeplessness he’d been trying to cope with. He glanced up as the door opened, meeting Bond halfway down the corridor.

They kissed like it was a first time.

Q’s hands almost trembled, glancing over the places he knew would be tender, painful. He stroked a finger down Bond’s cheek, not quite smiling; it had been too close, far too _fucking_ close.

Bond looped an arm around Q’s back, pulling him close, the younger man almost stumbling as he fell against Bond. “ _James_ ,” Q murmured, Bond cradling his fragile body, kissing him carefully, like Q was precious and breakable, and it was surprisingly nice.

Bond lifted Q up, carrying the younger man into the bedroom with no mind of his injuries, laying him across the bed. The kisses remained wondering, passionate but gentle, both holding the other so tightly.

They stripped one another lovingly, mouths and lips worshipping the skin beneath, documenting each part of the other’s body, cherishing that it was still _there_ , that they hadn’t lost one another, not yet. Not this time.

It was loving, tender. Bond moved slowly, deeply; Q sighed, voice low and filled with gravity, keeping fixed on Bond as though he could vanish. Bond treasured the young man; if only for a moment, if only for just _that_ moment, they were still there.

They courted death expertly. Most of the time, the passionate, frenzied joy, revelling in one another, was enough. Love was rarely mentioned, just staying on the periphery, heavily implied.

When Bond came back, it was easier. Q’s orgasm was an understated gasp, Bond’s a low, almost sobbing grunt. They twined around one another’s bodies, speaking of love in soft voices, falling asleep to the rhythm of breath, of heartbeat.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write some nsfw bottom!Q, maybe with bondage? I’m home sick from work and desperate for some smutty goodness. Thank you! <3 - tenpointsforQ

Q let out an unapologetic, satisfied noise as Bond hooked his wrists up to the headboard, the metal clicking loudly in his ears with his eyes covered.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying, to have his control taken away. The handcuffs were ones he knew he couldn’t slip; designed by Q himself, to not cut up his wrists too badly, but remain locked until Bond chose otherwise.

Once he accepted the futility of struggling, there was a certain degree of calm that washed over him, quite instinctively. His breath came in steady, slow movements, letting the tension drain out of his body.

“You look _beautiful_ ,” Bond’s voice murmured, low, untraceable; it seemed to sound in both ears at once, god knew how, Bond’s breath ticking his face while licked a long stripe up his naked inner thigh, Q shuddering deliciously at the touch.

Q didn’t reply; the slap was not wholly unexpected. “… thank you, sir,” he said, as Bond was waiting to hear. This was safe. This was directly in their comfort zones, and just enough to transport them both; touching on pain, on vulnerability, on control. Much more simply wasn’t required, given their day jobs. It was enough to simply tilt their relationship over, switch their places, Bond taken control of Q for once, both loving it.

Q let his mind concentrate on sensation. Bond. The press of their bodies, Q straining for more, the sharp hiss of pain as Bond’s nails, fingers, palms taught him to stay still. This moment was for Bond, his exploration and enjoyment, pushing Q as far as the younger man could possibly go before pleading incoherently.

Bond’s tongue brushed over Q’s nipple, the younger man keening, fingers butterfly-soft by his hard cock, over his balls. It wasn’t enough, not even slightly; Q’s hips bucked up, desperate.

Q gave a faint whine as Bond’s fingers sought lower, a single finger pressed against the plug that was nestled inside him, only shifting a millimetre or two – enough to _just_ scrape over his prostate. _“Fuck_ ,” Q breathed; Bond twisted the plug a half-inch, a slight burn, a little too big to be quite comfortable – he fell silent again, biting his lip to keep from further noises.

Fingers tightened around the plug, pulling slowly, inexorably; Q swallowed back whimpers. “Beg me to fuck you,” Bond prompted, voice low.

The familiarity, the simplicity of it. He fought, usually, was far harder to subjugate; today, he just wanted to let go. He didn’t want to think, or fight, or battle – just surrender to somebody stronger than him, and let the agent take him away.

“ _Please_ ,” Q gasped, breathless, shifting his hips a little further forward, suggestive.

Bond, in some act of sheer magic, was already slicked up, nudging against him. Q growled in a low voice, hooking his legs up around Bond, pulling him in; Bond pushed inside, Q’s breath spiralling out in a low breath, finally satisfied, filled. “ _Jesus_ , Q,” Bond breathed, forehead resting on Q’s.

Q let the world implode, as Bond shifted, building a rhythm that sent every thought flying.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00q femslash with bond taking q’s virginity on her desk pls wow *-* - anon

“You’re a bloody _menace_ ,” Q panted, keening as Bond’s hands worked in deft movements across her body, tracing over the indent of her waist, over her hips, pressed without a fraction of space between them.

Oh, agent Bond was a nightmare. A beautiful, perfect, _brilliant_ nightmare. One that had torn up Q’s established ideas on absolutely everything, and damn well _revelled_ in it, every moment she was around.

Q had never found somebody she wanted to be with. Skinny and angular and boyishly framed; men showed no interest, and she had no interest in women.

At least, so she had believed, until the very singular entity of Agent 007 entered, and her sexuality, beliefs, thoughts, ideas had melted in a fractional second that was now culminating in Bond’s lips and fingers and legs pushing her over the edge of her desk, back flat, worrying her trousers off to hook bare legs over Bond’s shoulders.

Bond leaned over, Q reaching forward to quickly unbutton the top of her blouse to reveal the lace bra beneath. “Cheeky,” Bond grinned, pressing a deep kiss against Q’s lips; Q gasped, as Bond’s lips moved lower, tracing down the breastbone, across her stomach, kneeling in front of the desk.

She tugged Q forward slightly, head between her legs, Q’s thighs still balanced on her shoulder. “Fuck, _fuck_ , are you…?”

“Shh,” Bond murmured, Q letting out a sudden, soft cry as Bond’s tongue brushed against her wet entrance.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Q repeated emphatically, fingers curling around the edges of her desk, eyes wide and staring unseeingly at the ceiling as Bond’s mouth, lips, teased against her clit in sure motions.

Q was rendered speechless in a matter of seconds, Bond’s tongue moving between hard and soft swipes, a testing suckle on her clit causing a hitch of breath, a lower moan when her tongue pressed deeper. “ _Oh_ ,” Q managed, hips shifting for more, _fuck_ , more.

Bond’s finger, pressing deeper in lieu of her tongue, crooking upwards to find the spongier texture of Q’s G-spot, tongue continuing to work in the interim, apparently mindless of mess as Q _keened_ , starting to understand why people _enjoyed_ this sort of thing so much. Dear _god_.

Q’s voice suddenly dropped in pitch, an _oh_ of surprise as she felt the rising heat of orgasm. Bond’s finger continued to play, her tongue and lips working it glorious counterpoint, Q’s mind starting to fuzz as she came with a startled cry, almost disbelieving.

Bond sat back, gently dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief – the ridiculous woman was still almost entirely dressed, something Q found inexplicably hot – and tugged Q off her desk to land in a boneless heap. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, blonde hair falling into Q’s face as she caught her breath.

“You have no fucking idea,” Q mumbled, and kissed her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i dont know why, but i need some pwp!00q. i just. i dont know. HAHA can you please? maybe some possessive!bond thrown in there, if you can. thank you so much :) – anon
> 
> AND
> 
> so i was rereading a bunch of your older filled prompts, and omg the nsfw one with the vibrator. do you think you can write a continuation of that one? haha all your prompt fills are lovely, by the way. i always look forward to reading a new one :) – anon

Q struggled through the day as best he could. Bond – in an act of mercy – didn’t start using the vibrator again until he’d recovered a little from his earlier orgasm; the overstimulation would have been murderous, otherwise.

He couldn’t wait for the day to end.

When he finally stepped into his and Bond’s flat, shutting the door behind him, he had precisely three seconds before Bond flattened him against the door with a slam, the vibrator abruptly turning on to practically full strength.

Q gave an obscene whine, legs collapsing from beneath him into Bond’s arms as the man kissed him firmly, taking him apart as his cock started to swell again in earnest. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Q managed, only capable of throttled expletives as Bond’s body pressed against him.

The vibrator turned on low, very low. Enough to taunt, stimulate, but nowhere near enough to be satisfying. “Are you learning, yet?” Bond asked, breath hot on Q’s ear.

Fuck, they were barely going to make it past the front door. A new record.

Q moaned, as Bond pushed on his shoulder, sending the younger man to his knees. Q didn’t hesitate; he reached up, pulling open Bond’s belt, undoing the button and tugging down the trousers with some assistance.

Bond was long since hard, achingly so; his grip was harsh in Q’s hair as he pulled the younger man towards him, pushing into Q’s mouth as the younger man shifted, the vibrator making him dizzy with want.

It was so much stimuli. Q’s head bobbed back and forth without hesitation, each movement jostling the vibrator slightly; Bond turned it up a notch, and Q moaned wantonly around Bond’s cock, sucking hard, tongue never still, running along the underside vein, tripping lightly over the slit before sinking down again.

The harder Q worked, the higher the vibrator was turned up; Q found his hips shifting desperately, trying to angle himself to rub against Bond’s leg while continuing to suck him. “ _Mine_.”

Q keened out a _yes_ around Bond’s cock, hands moving up to play over Bond’s balls, rubbing, pinching slightly, knowing where to touch as Bond’s pace increased slightly.

He pulled out, Q whooping for air, practically blinded with want as the vibrator mercilessly moved over his prostate. Bond yanked him up, Q boneless as Bond twisted him around and pinned him against the front door. “God, _yes_ James,” Q panted, as Bond pulled down his trousers to pool around his ankles. “Oh _fuck_ , been waiting for you all _fucking_ day.”

“Keep swearing, and I’ll tie you up and leave that in indefinitely,” Bond growled at him, Q trying to translate the swear words into something more palatable, falling silent other than frantic moans as Bond turned off the vibrator. He slid it out of Q’s entrance, chucking it carelessly onto the floor; the emptiness felt wrong, Q letting out a soft sob of need as Bond’s fingers slid in its place.

“Please, James,” Q breathed, without hyperbole, just utter honestly. “ _Please_.”

Bond had been playing with the controls all day. Winding Q up, watching the man squirm, knowing he was painfully hard and knowing the younger man wouldn’t dare come without Bond’s permission. Having utter power, at least for a time, over the young man’s body and desires, aspects of his mind.

He slid into his lover gently, making sure he was alright before setting up a quick pace, fuelled by a day of want, of imagining _this moment_. Q sighed in satisfaction, breath low and heavy, Bond’s hand sliding around his cock and tugging it in counterpoint with his thrusts.

Q lasted no time at all, after a day of stimulation and implication; he came hard against his own front door with a low groan, the abrupt clench of his muscles around Bond’s cock sending him over into his own orgasm, vision whiting.

Quiet stillness. Bond kept himself propped against the door, his weight holding Q in place for a moment, waiting to recover slightly as they panted in syncopated rhythm.

“I’ve got you,” Bond breathed, Q nodding languidly, eyes sliding slightly shut.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I Love your fanfic that you make ^^ I would like to request one prompt about Bond & Q who have sex but with food :) Thanks In Advance :) - tigrasevaddict
> 
> AND
> 
> Hello! I love your prompts soooo much! Lovely!! I want to see your secrets of writing… And I have a favor, could you please write 00Q sex in the bathroom in Q’s flat(or Bond’s)? Thanks,

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Bond commented drily; Q had been absolutely hell-bent on the idea of using various foodstuffs in an erotic context. Bond had his misgivings from the outset – it tended to end badly, less erotic and more simply amusing.

Culminating in Bond lying on their kitchen table – he point blank refused to get sugary stuff all over the bed – covered in various substances. The whipped cream had flattened, warmed by Bond’s body heat to a semi-liquid rather than anything with shape, there was a squashed strawberry somewhere under the hell of his left hand, and Q was giggling as he painted patterns in Bond’s abdomen with melted chocolate.

It was not erotic. It was just very funny.

Bond rolled his eyes slightly, sitting up as Q continued to snort with laughter. “I’m drawing the line,” he told Q, smirking slightly as wet cream fell off his shoulder with a soft plop. “I’m having a shower.”

Q giggled, willingly taking Bond’s hand as they headed into the bathroom; Q reached forward to flick on the water, returning back to draw a finger through the dark chocolate smears over Bond’s body, licking it off in the first move that was truly erotic.

And remarkably effective, actually; Q ran a finger from Bond’s groin, up to his belly button, pushing into the indent to scoop out the final dribble of chocolate, and Bond’s cock twitched.

He pushed Q into the standalone shower, the younger man spluttering slightly; Bond always found Q’s expression ridiculously endearing, when he got water over his face. Bond pushed him further, the younger man crushed on the surprisingly cold tiles with a mewl of protest, swallowed as Bond kissed him deeply, invasively.

Q’s hands moved down, rubbing over the sticky patches where various sweet substances had been placed; he reached out for shower gel, lather abruptly spewing over his hands as he rubbed a sponge over Bond’s body with utter reverence. Bond kept the younger man caged in, water cascading over his head, blond hair plastered to his skull as he watched Q with frenzied intensity.

Bond blinked, reaching between their bodies and cradling Q’s half-hard cock; he teased it to life while Q continued to sponge him gently, chocolate musk spiralling into the air around them. Q gasped, getting water in his mouth, hips moving against Bond’s closed fingers with softly swallowed sounds.

The water hid a multitude of sins, Bond and Q’s mouths mashed together under the jet, clearing them of everything.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) can I just say I adore your fills! You are wonderful writers! Thank you for sharing your work with everyone :D anyway prompt time, could I have a nsfw 00Q where Bond tries to be gentle with Q as he sees him as breakable, and Q is having none of that and starts telling him to put his back into it, basically just Q being a pushy bottom. I don’t know if you have filled a prompt similar to this, if so you could point me in its direction? Thank You!!!! - anon

Bond prepared him with perfect, practised tenderness; Q was impressed, if he completely honest. The man was renowned for passion and fire and anger, not gentle movements as he ran a lazy tongue along Q’s collarbone and a thumb in a deft stripe along his perineum, neatly diverting all attention as another finger slid inside his body.

It was glorious, for what it was. Q was pliant under Bond’s ministration, letting out a soft sound, almost a purr, when Bond’s fingers massaged his prostate.

“More,” he gasped, in the tone he reserved for when Bond was being obnoxious, his mind turning cloudy with want as he hooked Bond closer, willing him to just fuck him, take him apart and make him stop damn well thinking.

Q began to get the idea, when Bond carefully moved into him, that perhaps the agent was being overcautious. “Are you alright?” he asked Q through fractured breath, buried inside the younger man who, quite honestly, just wanted Bond to damn well move.

“I’m not some quivering virgin,” Q snapped, trying to roll his hips, trying to get something, anything. “I’m fine, just please, for god’s sake…”

The rhythm established, and Q let out a sharp growl. Bond kissed his shoulder, somehow missing that Q was about to kill him.

Q wrapped his legs around Bond’s back, sharply pulling them both back so Q was on his back, Bond above him, looking faintly confused. “I will say this only once,” Q told him, pupils hugely dilated, forcing Bond to still while still sheathed in Q’s body. “Fuck me properly, or don’t bother.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. He shifted his hands to Q’s sides, dragging them to pin his wrists in a deliberately harsh grip; he tugged his hips back, snapping forward with abrupt violence that made Q’s eyes roll back in his head a little. “Point taken,” Bond said calmly, the barest trace of a smirk.

The change was monumental. In an instant, Q had the real James Bond back; not the strangely false construction, but a flesh and blood man, passionate and dizzyingly alive as he pounded into Q’s body, Q arching beneath him, hand closed around his own cock as Bond targeted his prostate with bruising precision.

He came with a choked-off cry; Bond followed a heartbeat later, the final jerks unintentionally painful on Q’s over-stimulated gland.

Bond rolled off him, arm still draped over the younger man’s chest as the pair tried to recover. “Much better,” Q panted, eyes sliding shut as Bond let out a soft snort.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Jen, could you write a dom/sub fic where James gets Q a collar for him to wear? NSFW would be fun if you’re in the mood! Thank you!!! – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Lex's!

It was so easy to forget.

Work would consume Q, filling his mind with nothing but blueprints, programming, planning. Bond would saunter in intermittently, to find Q so immersed that he barely noticed Bond’s presence. Fine, understandable; Q was MI6’s Quartermaster, couldn’t be expected to pay attention to Bond every moment.

MI6 knew, naturally; they were together, but the details could remain ambiguous. Yet Q did have a spectacular voyeuristic streak, provided everything was managed with some class. It would need to be discreet enough to potentially be worn in MI6, if Q decided he wanted to, but not so minimal that the message was lost.

After scouring the internet searches and hastily wiping his browser history, he realised he was unlikely to find anything decent; he went the old-fashioned way, exploring Soho.

In one of the smaller side-streets, removed from the vanilla Ann Summers type staples, he found it. It was a simple circlet of rounded metal, no tags or anything so trite, with a slim Allan key lock; impressive, but ultimately understated. Nigh on impossible to remove without assistance.

That evening, Bond prepared to bestow the gift on his young sub. “You’ve been rather distracted lately,” he murmured, Q pressed against him on the sofa; the younger man shifted slightly as he felt the change in dynamic, the slightly possessive tug that pushed him neatly into role.

Q smiled faintly, sighing out slightly as Bond’s grip turned harder. “Work does rather take up my time, sir,” he replied, the use of the title confirming he was ready to play.

“Does it now?” Bond purred, hand running along the bumped ridges of Q’s slender body. “I have something for you,” he continued, reaching over the side of the sofa to pull up a bag; Q sat up, Bond opposite as he handed over a flat, black box. “A little reminder, if you want it.”

It was technically dangerous territory; they had not discussed this aspect in any form. While Bond was relatively certain it would be well-received, he was hardly going to force Q into it.

Judging by his expression, no force would be necessary. “It’s perfect,” he breathed, rubbing a finger along the slightly indented surface at the back where Bond had asked his call sign to be engraved.

“Want me to put it on?” Bond asked, stroking a finger down Q’s neck, the younger man twisting his head upwards to expose his throat.

“Bedroom,” Q said swiftly, licking his lips as he surveyed the gift, eyes immensely bright.

Bond scooped Q off the sofa, the collar still in his lap. “Gladly,” he smiled, enjoying the muffled shout of surprise from the younger man.

“I can walk, James!”

“I’ve noticed; this is faster,” Bond smirked, keeping Q cradled to his chest as they stepped through the door. “You’re sure this is alright?”

“Absolutely,” Q nodded, fingers still tight around the box. “Normal parameters?”

“Gladly,” Bond concurred. The moment the door shut, they were in role; the shift was almost palpable, Q’s body relaxing into the familiar state of submission. There was still a slight degree of cockiness there though, Bond noted, as he prowled around his sub.

“Do you deserve this?” he asked in a soft, low voice, eyes narrowing as he held the collar, the thin metal glinting in his hands.

“I don’t know sir,” Q responded, daring his dominant with a singsong tone. Bond smirked, grabbing Q’s hair roughly and pulling his head back, exposing his pale throat as Q let out a soft gasp.

“You’re mine,” Bond murmured, “and I’ve had enough of others looking at you, looking and not knowing the simple fact that I own you.”

Q’s breath caught at the words, his body relaxing into James’ touch. “Yes sir,” he agreed, as Bond let go of him. Q looked from the box to Bond and fluidly knelt, offering himself to the other man, green eyes glinting. Bond almost growled at the gesture, resisting the urge to forgo the collaring and simply fuck him into the floor.

He curtailed that thought; there would be time for that soon enough. “Prove it,” Bond said with terrifying gravily, standing over Q in a way that made desire spike within them both.

Q raised his head, hands finding Bond’s belt buckle confidently. “Did I say you could do that?” Bond snapped, kicking Q away lightly, the younger man falling back with an expression of petulant alarm.

“But I thought…”

“You’ve forgotten yourself,” Bond continued in a growl. “Looks like I got this just in time.”

“Permission to suck you off, sir?” Q murmured, the degrading words sending a thrum of arousal to his groin.

“Oh no; I was going to let you earn it by fucking your mouth, now, I want a little more,” Bond informed him, walking briskly to the bedside table; he drew out the lube and tossed it to his sub, who scrabbled to catch. “Prep yourself for me, slowly,” he commanded, sitting back on the bed, reaching for his own cock.

“Yes sir,” the younger man replied, dark curls hanging heavy in front of his eyes. The glasses had been removed, given that broken frames really didn’t add to proceedings. “Permission to touch myself sir?” Q pleaded as he squeezed lubricant over his fingers.

“Granted.” Bond grunted, hand working languidly over himself. “Come before I do, and I swear you won’t walk for weeks.”

Q nodded hurriedly, hands slipping over his cock as he reached for his own arse. He moaned as the first finger entered him, rubbing over his own prostate and making him gasp faintly. Bond watched, rapt, eyeing Q’s body hungrily. The younger man liked it rough, and fast; Bond asking him to slow was an exquisitely cruel torture.

By the time he inserted the third finger Bond was getting desperate, bucking into his own hand. Q was whining, gasping into the carpet, arse high in the air. “Enough!”Bond called, moving from the bed and pinning Q to the floor; he checked, satisfied, before guiding himself to the man’s arse, tip just slipping inside.

“Oh god,” Q moaned, pushing back for more; Bond’s hand found his head, forcing him down against the carpet.

“If I needed a whore I would have bought one,” Bond spat, grip merciless. “My pace, or not at all”

Q nodded as best he could. “Sir, please!” he pleaded, the word sending shivers through Bond’s body. He pushed himself fully inside, immediately setting a punishing pace. Neither would last long after that kind of foreplay, and he wanted to make the most of the tight hole. Lifting Q’s body upright he fucked him, hips thrusting almost painfully.

“Please, sir!” Q screamed, as Bond responded, filling him fully and falling forward, fucking Q into the carpet. He growled permission to Q, the younger man keening with want. The friction against his cock was almost too much; Q came seconds after Bond, spilling across the bedroom floor.

They paused for a few moments, the post coital bliss gradually dissipating. “Good boy,” Bond murmured, pulling Q closer. The man had hit a form of subspace, eyes unfocused, body limp with spent pleasure.

“Thank you sir,” he breathed, the words sounding like the most natural in the world. Bond was all that mattered.

Bond held him tightly, stroking a hand through his hair. “You’ve earned this,” he praised tenderly, helping Q to his knees. “My Q,” he smiled, locking the collar around his lover’s neck.

“Yours,” Q agreed, eyes closing blissfully, safe in the knowledge that he was entirely loved.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel super awkward prompting this… but can you write 00Q doing stuff in the sauna? Or hot tub? Or swimming pool? thanks :) – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another from Lex!

The whole situation was utterly ridiculous, Q concluded, as he strode through the hotel hallway. There was only one door, large and ostentatious; naturally, Bond had somehow acquired the penthouse suite. Q didn’t bother knocking, the duplicate key card enough to allow him entry.

The lock clicked green, door opening onto the main living space. There was even a bloody bar, next to which sat a hot tub large enough to accommodate a small orgy of human bodies.

Currently, however, it housed only the double-oh agent, lounging nude beneath the bubbles.“Really 007, it’s good to know the taxes aren’t being wasted.” Q commented, placing his bag and briefcase down on the coffee table. Bond smirked, apparently unperturbed by the sudden intrusion. He rose from the boiling bubbles, foam sliding from toned muscles, entirely at ease with his own nudity.

Q looked away, a slight flush in his cheeks as Bond picked up a miniscule towel to wrap around his hips, draping another for his hair and shoulders. Really, none of the above did much to preserve dignity or to encourage dryness.

The case clicked open loudly, Q’s voice dry. “If you’re quite done?”

“What brings you all the way out here?” Bond asked, rubbing the back of his head as he approached his Quartermaster. “Thought you didn’t like planes.”

“I don’t, therefore my presence might help to indicate the seriousness of the situation.” Q snapped, pulling out his laptop and trying to look anywhere but at James bloody Bond.

“I’m honoured.”

“Don’t be,” Q told him, flicking the power button and rummaging in his case. “Your mission has been reclassified, the eyes of the world are on you and we can’t afford any fuck ups,” Q informed him, passing him a small case of new equipment. “I’ll be monitoring you from here in case you need anything new, you also need to be trained in how to use those,” he continued, as Bond drew out some slim metal objects from the bag. Q looked over to him, water still dripping over the man’s chiselled abs. Q’s throat was abruptly very, very dry. “Clothing is normally not optional in my meetings, Bond.”

Bond’s tone was butter-smooth. “Well, if you’d called ahead…” he smirked, doing absolutely nothing about his state of dress. “This is my room, after all. I assume you will be camping out here for the time being?”

Q tried valiantly for acerbity, the effect slightly spoiled by fidgeting, trying to somehow hide the slight bulge in his groin. “Naturally, there is enough room in this damn place for my entire branch,” he managed, before beginning to rattle out information on the various pieces of tech, acutely aware of the blush rising from his neck to his ears, staining his face pink. Bond listened, expression neutral; if he noticed Q’s discomfort, he said nothing.

“… and that’s all for now,” Q finished, handing Bond the electronic ‘pick’ for his hands to run over.

Bond’s smile was gentle, teasing, as he placed the pick on the table and returned his full attention to Q himself. “Sounds like you have me covered for every eventuality.”

“Keeping you alive happens to be my job.” Q retorted, placing the objects carefully back into the bag.

“You seem a little tense.” Bond noted. The bastard was smiling at him.

Q glared, feeling petulant, not caring too much about being professional. “You try flying halfway across the globe only to be met by a naked, grinning, halfwit.”

Bond simply chuckled, removing the towel and tossing it across the room, Q’s eyes widening slightly with disbelief. “No, now you have been met by a grinning, naked, halfwit,” he countered in a low purr, impressive cock lying semi-hard against his thigh.

Q swallowed, trying not to replay the dreams that had kept him occupied through the nine hour flight. “Bond…” he began, voice unsteady.

“There’s little I can do until tomorrow,” Bond pointed out, moving closer to Q’s frozen frame. “I can think of a rather enjoyable way to spend that time. Besides, you’ll work better if you’re relaxed…”

Q felt the snap somewhere in the back of his skull, feeling relatively cross with himself as he was pulled onto Bond’s still dripping lap, the agent kissing him firmly. Q’s erection ground against Bond’s stomach, only a few thin layers separated them; Bond stripped him with truly remarkable speed, all but throwing his Quartermaster into the bubbling hot tub.

Q blushed as he lay, nude, under the warm water. He wasn’t wholly unattractive, but against Bond’s muscled frame he felt like a scarecrow, all odd angles and wiry limbs. “Relax, Q,” Bond murmured, sliding in next to him, hands scooting the younger man closer. “Seriously.”

“Is no one on the MI6 books off your possible fuck list?” Q asked rhetorically, keening softly as Bond made for his throat, littering it with kisses.

Bond’s voice was low, deep with want. “No one else is as high a priority.”

Q’s breath caught. “Excuse me?” he managed, as Bond shifted the young man onto his lap, hands sliding over their slick bodies.

“You heard,” Bond grunted, hand finding Q’s erection, closing tightly around it and pumping gently; Q moaned, back arching to fall over Bond, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Q’s voice was deep with arousal, foggy with sheer disbelief. “You actually want me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Bond told him, chest rumbling with amusement as Q started bucking in his grip, making delicious little noises under his breath.

“I won’t…” Q breathed, almost beyond speech as he felt Bond’s fingers groping his arse, falling apart under his practised hands. “… won’t be another conquest Bond, please, I’m not…”

“No,” Bond agreed, placing his lips just below Q’s ear and kissing so tenderly Q felt the tension leave his limbs in a rush. “You’re not.”

The rest was simple, beautifully easy. Bond’s finger was teasing his entrance, Q grasping the side of the tub and lifting his hips, allowing Bond better access. He heard an appreciative sigh as Bond surveyed the young man before him, encased in bubbling water.

Bond’s finger entered him, slowly, slickly, drawing a moan from Q’s suspended body. The preparation was messy, Bond’s wet fingers diving in and out, filling him only for a moment and not enough.

“For god’s sake Bond, fuck me!” Q demanded, pulling himself closer to Bond; the agent shuddered in impressed delight as thin fingers grasped his cock, Q wrapping ankles around Bond’s back as he pushed himself down.

Q keened, Bond’s eyes shutting for a brief moment. “James,” he corrected through a closed throat.

“James,” Q breathed back, without argument; Bond moaned at the sound of his name, drawn from pink lips. Q rode him, the water allowing both to remain slick and light against one another, Bond’s hand closing around Q’s cock once again as he teetered on the edge of orgasm.

They came within a handful of seconds of one another, spurting inelegantly into the tub; Q sighed out, collapsing onto Bond’s body as the agent reached out, turning the insistent bubbles off.

There were two large robes next to them, something Q noted with vague amusement; Bond made no comment, just wrapped him up tightly as they rose from the tub.

“Not just another conquest?” Q clarified, concern still evident behind hazy eyes.

“No,” Bond confirmed, holding the young Quartermaster tightly. “So far from it.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s a bit cliche but could you do a sick Q fic? Plenty of cuddling and lazy hand jobs? I would trade you my fattest cow. I have the splittingest migraine in all the land. Than you very very much! I love both your work, It’s excellent. I’m going to go make tea now bye <3 – anon
> 
> AND
> 
> Gah I love your fics! Just wondering, can you do a fic involved a lot of kissing and cuddles please! You can choose the story etc. and you can make it nsfw if you want, haha! THANK YOU <3 - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lex again!

“You’re shit at this,” Bond commented, as Q reached in vain for his laptop, hands flapping as Bond continued pushing it away.

“I don’t do illness James, it’s an awful habit,” Q said, or at least tried to. His nose was so blocked that the reprimand sounded ridiculous.

Bond rolled his eyes, forcing Q’s head back under the towel, inhaling steam from a large saucepan of water. “Stay there,” Bond told him firmly.

“I hate you,” the towel muttered at him. It was a few more minutes before Bond finally relented, pulling the tea-towel up and off the disgruntled Quartermaster. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight; Q’s normally vaguely-styled hair stuck up in all directions, skin slightly damp from the steam. He was wearing one of Bond’s old training hoodies, which swamped him to an impressive degree. The pyjamas were also a size or so too large for him - my brother’s, Q had told him once - and were made of a warm, fleece-like material. Long feet were hidden by slipper socks, and the whole affair gave the impression of a slightly startled, very furry and rather annoyed kitten.

Chuckling to himself, Bond pulled the plate of buttered toast towards them. “Food,” he instructed, picking up one of the strips of bread and charging it at Q’s mouth.

“I swear if you _breathe_ the word ‘aeroplane’…” Q muttered darkly, mouth falling open regardless to accept the toast. He pulled the blanket closer, snuggling against Bond’s warm body. “You’re like a radiator,” he commented softly, as Bond stroked his hair. “Seriously, are you feverish?”

“You wish,” Bond snorted, seeing the light of vaguely malicious hope in Q’s eyes. “Besides, I think for the sake of the nation the two of us should not be ill at the same time.”

Q nodded in glum agreement, and returned his attention to the mind-numbing idiocy of daytime TV. He could only abide small doses of the stuff; sure enough, after about twenty minutes, the younger man was squirming in Bond’s embrace.

“For an invalid, you have a lot of energy,” Bond noted, holding the man in place as Q huffed. “Sit _still_.”

“I’m rather bored, and since you _insist_ on confiscating my laptop, I have little else to do!”

Bond smirked, the fleece-drenched body still insistently wriggling.  “Other people find ways to amuse themselves without the aid of technology,” he pointed out.

“Blasphemy!” Q waved him off, red rimmed eyes glaring, finally tugging free of Bond’s arms and sliding against the sofa. “Wicked lies spread by the government.”

“Really?” Bond murmured, a rather wicked idea forming in his head. He turned the TV to mute, reaching back over to Q’s slumped form. “I’m sure I could find a way to amuse you.”

“Hand me my computer?” Q replied sarcastically, legs stretching out to landing on the coffee table, just beside the still sluggishly steaming saucepan.

“Nope,” Bond told him, hand brushing Q’s hips suggestively. “Guess again.”

Q’s eyes followed his arm, and he swallowed, suddenly very aware of the many creative and innovative ways that James Bond could entertain him without a plug socket in sight.

“What about not getting sick?” Q breathed, as Bond’s hand toyed with his pyjama waistband.

“Unless you can transmit illness via my hand…” Bond mocked, slipping under the band, fingers seeking Q’s flaccid cock. “For future reference Q, going commando is _always_ the correct idea,” he murmured, causing the younger man to blush an impressive shade of pink.

Q sighed with pleasure as Bond began a slow, luxurious hand job. They had been together four months, long enough for Bond to know _exactly_ how his lover liked to be touched; Q whined, pressing firmly against him as Bond fisted his cock, pulling tightly at the head.

“Yes, _please_ James, there…” Q mewled, as Bond placed a firm kiss between Q’s neck and shoulder. Q shuddered, already fully erect under the sensual touches. Bond continued to pump him lightly, thumb fondling Q’s balls before stroking up the edge of his thighs. Despite the illness Q was managing to be quite vocal about the whole affair, keening and gasping at almost every touch.

Bond reached for the nearly empty tissue box, as Q came into his hand with a low sigh of contentment. He felt the man relax against him, body limp with the sudden drain of tension.

“Good?” Bond asked with a soft smile, Q teetering towards a bliss-induced sleep.

Q yawned, snuggling against Bond’s chest, the older man holding him close. “Perfection.” Q managed, as he fell into oblivion.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person … Prompt : Q and Bond “first time” after Q had was raped(maybe a year ago).. angst/hurt/comfort. James and Q are together. - anon
> 
> AND
> 
> hi, Jen. Prompt : Q and James have sex for the first time since Q was abused/raped. hurt/comfort/angst. hurt!Q and protective!James, please - anon

Bond toppled back onto the bed, pulling Q with him, the pair kissing deeply, passionately, everything pouring into the other with all the passion they could physically manage, Bond’s arms linked loosely around Q’s waist as he smiled, straddling Bond’s hips.

They would usually get this far, or a little beyond. One or the other would inevitably develop an erection, and everything stopped with absolutely blinding speed, as Bond pulled away either just before, or just after, Q’s body froze with tension.

Tonight, Bond tried to pull away first, feeling his body respond; Q arrested the motion, holding Bond gently in place. “I’m okay,” he murmured, darting kisses over Bond’s collarbone, shoulders. “Please, James. I’m fine.”

Q would not be argued with, Bond knew that. So he willingly continued, let himself enjoy whatever time he had before Q inevitably wanted out. He always did.

The bastards had held him captive for nearly two weeks. Bond didn’t get there in time.

Bond lay against the mattress, let Q remain on top while leading himself; Q clearly didn’t know what to do with himself, already getting nervous with the level of physical intimacy, heart rate increasing in a way Bond knew was not simply arousal.

“We don’t have to,” Bond murmured, as Q took level breaths, both bodies responding on instinct.

Q nodded, smiled encouragingly, kissing his lover again. “I want to do this,” he said quietly, a slight shadow of desperation lingering behind his eyes. “You and I, we… I miss it, James. I miss having that with you, and I know you do too…”

“I don’t need it,” Bond said sharply, firmly; Q kept his smile intact, nodded his understanding. “Q…”

Q interrupted him with another kiss, rolling his hips slightly. Bond groaned, low in his throat, their groins rubbing together; Q was doing really well, Bond mused, reaching his hands to Q’s back, un-tucking his shirt, hands sliding along bare skin.

Honestly, it was nice. It felt good, the pressure, the contact, being this close to James after so long of simply not being to manage it, not without flashbacks leaving him breathless and terrified. A year was a long time, but so was two weeks, when in isolation with men insistent on breaking down every mental and physical barrier conceivable.

They wound up naked on the bed, hands wrapped around themselves; Bond had reached for Q, only for the young man to shake his head vigorously. Thus they remained like this, mutually masturbating, Q’s first sexual experience with another person in the vicinity in almost a year.

Bond kissed him, as Q came, spurting hotly over the bed sheets. Bond followed a moment or two later, Q collapsing down next to him, looking pained and tired and upset and delighted all at once. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, blinking glassy tears out of his eyes. “I wanted…”

“Q,” Bond interrupted, laying a hand over his lover’s waist, rubbing along his side gently. “Don’t ever be sorry.”

He didn’t seem wholly convinced, but moved anyway. Bond let out a soft sigh, kicking away the spoiled sheets to tuck Q under the duvet, the young man crying into his chest at the simple fact that he felt he was too fucked up to manage proper sex with the man he loved, and overwhelmed that said man was understanding enough to not mind.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW request: Bond discovers that the small of Q’s back is really sensitive, clothed or unclothed. He takes judicious pleasure in exploiting it - anon

Initially, Bond had just enjoyed looping his arm around Q’s waist, hand gently guiding the slim man forward in a non-confrontational display of dominance. Q’s lips had parted in the faintest of inhales, something Bond noted calmly, didn’t outwardly query.

Dominance was not quite it. There was something more, something he hadn’t quite seen; he ran a finger down Q’s spine, the body beneath him shuddering delectably.

When Bond placed his palm flat against the indent of his lower back, Q gave a soft whine, goosebumps inadvertently rippling across his body. Bond smiled very slightly, raised an eyebrow, pressed a kiss to the ridge of spine and listened to another cut-off gasp for breath.

A lick, along the hollow, and Q whimpered softly. Bond smiled, hands moving everywhere but, Q instinctively shifting his body for more contact, for touch, for the tingling sensation over his impossibly sensitive skin.

Bond left Q lying on his side, fingers touching, mouth and lips and tongue tasting all parts of his body, avoiding his groin and lower back, Q concertinaing outright for something, anything.

Abruptly, Q was flipped onto his back, Bond’s hand supporting him and tugging him close, legs sliding haphazardly around Bond’s back with a palm pressing into him, steady and firm, an inexorable presence.

Q’s breath was catching beautifully, as Bond kept one hand firmly in place, the other slipping lower, brushing over and around his entrance, Q’s body flat against him. “Please,” Q whined, as Bond stroked him like a cat, Q’s back arching into his touch as he gently slid one finger in – Q noting with surprise that Bond had magicked lube out of thin air, as far as he could work out – and kissed Q, fingers in a gaps between vertebrae, finger crooking upwards.

The man in his arms disintegrated with a low, variably modulated moan, and Bond smiled. He played the bones of Q’s spine like a musical instrument, delicate and perfectly formed, sensitive, alive.

A second finger, a nail scraped along the spine, fingers moving to dance over the hollow. Q panted in his arms, arching for more, quietly whimpering whenever the touch was removed.

So beautiful, Bond thought, hands on Q’s waist to tug him upwards, positioned over his cock; Q sank downwards, guided by Bond’s confident hand, letting out a broken moan of sheer contentment, Bond kissing him gently before finally starting towards release.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of suck at prompts but here we go: 00q, sub!Bond. James has horrid trust issues (paranoia or just general stuff you can choose) and needs someone he can trust to go to when he needs to feel safe/cared for. That person is Q. (nsfw please and I’m so sorry idek what this is) – anon

Bond appeared at Q’s door, looking ragged and strung-out and angry and hurt, eyes darting everywhere at once in a way that looked almost drugged, jaw tight with tension as he looked at Q.

“Okay,” Q said simply, without any further discussion needing to be had, and let Bond in.

Bond all but collapsed on the ground in front of the closed front door; Q leaned down, picking the agent up again, body closely pressed. “Bedroom. Strip, and assume the position by the side of the bed,” he ordered in a calm, almost gentle tone. Q could do that, could convey absolute authority despite a lightness of tone that nobody else Bond knew could pull off.

He was the only person in the world Bond could implicitly trust. Q never lied. He had his own agendas, priorities, ambitions. He was imperfect, and accepted himself as such, and Bond needed somebody that transparent, once in a while. Transparent, and yet enigmatic.

Q walked into the room, the eye of the storm, the only calm Bond could ever find. He knelt by the side of the bed, head inclined, hands behind his back loosely. Q settled on the edge of the bed, hand stroking along Bond’s jaw, examining the new wounds, the new injuries.

The idea was not pain, or humiliation. It was not a game. It was not all about Bond, either. Q hated seeing the injuries; he would always glance over, forehead crinkled with concern, tracing over the scrapes and cuts and bruises with a disparaging sigh. “Do you need help?” he asked simply.

“No, Q,” Bond replied, the title allowing a moment of clarity. Their relationship was a curious one. Q was always ‘Q’, but there was a time and a place for each intonation. ‘Q’ could be a lover, a friend, a co-worker, a senior office. ‘Q’ could mean dominance, or submission, or every shade in between. _Q_ meant everything.

In this moment, it was a title, not a name. Q was in charge, taking charge. Bond told the truth, and Q believed him, nodding his understanding.

When Q crushed his lips in a bruising kiss, Bond sighed slightly, tension bleeding out of him. The carpet was scratchy under his knees, his body exposed and a little cold. It was all discomfort though, not pain. Enough sensation to tether him to the moment, without the external stimuli becoming all-consuming.

“Your mouth,” Q ordered, taking decisions out of Bond’s hands; they both knew the safewords, could stop if needed. Bond reached for Q’s trousers, body slightly prickly with the cold, Q’s hands an inexorable warmth as he slid the zip down, tugging underwear out of the way.

He didn’t have to think, or do anything more than what Q asked of him. Nothing could go wrong here. He swallowed Q’s erection as far as he could at once, Q gasping in shock, saying nothing, hand knotting in Bond’s hair, the older man’s eyes distantly unfocused as attention clarified on the single moment, and on nothing.

The world tilted sideways, stopped _mattering_. For a moment, however brief, however transitory, Q was able to make Bond forget.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your fic! Would you consider doing a 00Q pain-play fic with sub!Bond and a *lot* of pain? He has a ridiculous pain tolerance, which means that Q has to try harder. I would like it to be so painful it’s not even arousing any more. (But no long-term injuries. I’m not sure if this is possible. It’s fine if you have to resort to science fiction.) Very consensual, please. Maybe after an op gone bad, Bond just wants to get out of his head, and Q is hesitant, but willing to help. – anon

“Safeword?” Q asked, voice far steadier than any other part of him, Bond lashed to the headboard and spread over the bed with his entire back exposed.

To say he had misgivings would be grimly understating matters. Quite frankly, Q thought this was probably one of the least intelligent things either of them had ever considered doing.

Bond took a moment. “Don’t need one,” he said firmly, head to one side, breathing too-steadily with his eyes shut.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Q returned sharply. If Bond was going to play silly buggers, this scenario would be off the cards indefinitely. It was a bloody questionable thing to start off with.

Another moment. “Red,” Bond conceded; Q nodded his understanding, allowing a verbal confirmation, flicking the short whip experimentally.

The thing was in no sense safe for bedroom play. Bond had acquired it knowing that most BDSM equipment would be grimly lacking; after a handful of sessions with Q, teaching the young man how to use it, he felt entirely comfortable allowing the scene to run.

An initial flick; a thin red welt appeared, Bond’s body only flinching a very slight amount. It was nothing, a mere sting, a long way removed from everything Bond was actually seeking.

Q breathed out steadily, flicking again, reading Bond’s body carefully; he tried a harder stroke, the whip contacting with an audible _crack_ , and Bond let out a shuddering sigh.

Oh jesus, they were actually going to do this.

Bond’s tutelage had been thorough; Q knew where to aim, where to avoid, where to dangerous to injure. How hard, how repetitive, how to read Bond’s body for the signs of pain he could usually conceal so well, know when was too far and not enough and where that elusive space could linger, wherein everything turned numb, his mind entirely blanking for a time, however short.

Q peppered Bond’s back with marks, allowing a handful of lighter ones on the sensitive skin of his thighs, allowing a stroke or two to draw blood; as the pain mounted higher, as Q’s jaw tightened, the splits in skin becoming more prevalent, Bond’s body seeped tension and red, everything relaxing by increments.

They knew each other well enough; Q could read Bond, it was part of why they could work together. The changes were faint, almost invisible. Q didn’t need to see that Bond was hard – he had mentioned early on that Q inflicting true pain was likely to be arousing – to know that this was working.

He gently slid onto the bed, releasing Bond’s wrists; the man gave a short moan, of reluctance, of _something_. Q reached down his body, fingers curling around Bond’s cock, the other playing games in the slick, broken skin of his back. He worked both hands in counterpoint, Bond’s eyes curiously unfocused, stripped back to a simple need for friction and touch and contact.

Bond came with a cry, Q cradling his loose body, curling him to one side. They didn’t speak; Q dropped a kiss onto Bond’s temple, and grabbed the aftercare kit he’d prepared earlier in the evening, ready to patch Bond together again.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello there :D firstly, thank you for your gorgeous writing filling the tagg, I’m always happy to see another ficlet by you! today, I’ve actually got a prompt: because I’ve been in this fandom almost since the beginning and I never came across a story where Bond and Q shag right in the gallery (the gallery’s bathroom more probably ;) during the first meeting, I hope that maybe you’ll deliver something like that. nsfw is always good :D – my-dearest-sixsmith

Q had been the one to walk away.

“Brave new world,” Bond muttered, shaking his head slightly at the absurd, overly dramatic changes that seemed to be rapidly unfolding around him. A young, beautiful man, supposedly taking charge of a department responsible for keeping him alive.

So young. So very, very beautiful.

Bond was accustomed to feeling gazes trained on him; he glanced up, catching the young Quartermaster’s eye. He was leant against the archway into the gallery, hands in his pockets, looking politely interested in the simple fact of Bond still sitting there. He didn’t flinch when Bond looked at him, didn’t move in the slightest.

Q’s expression was an outright challenge, and Bond had no idea yet what was being staked. He tilted his head slightly, Q raising an eyebrow.

Alright, then.

Q vanished. Bond followed faster than he knew he could move without attraction attention, chasing down the younger man into the disabled toilet of the National Gallery, Q locking the door with a sense of finality before turning to look at Bond, still utterly placid, unflappable.

Bond all but devoured him, the slim body trapped against the door, Bond’s hand tracing him, all new angles and uncertain hollows, a whole human being to begin exploring, each line and indent mapped in precise detail. Q took as much as he gave, fighting back, refusing to lie reticent.

Hands moved everywhere at once. Bond growled, hand wrenching the god-awful parka off and letting it slide to the ground with a soft _thump_ , plunging his hands down beneath Q’s underwear, giving him a gentle squeeze, stroking confidently.

Q gave a soft gasp, sliding into Bond’s fist, mouth laving wet lines over his throat, kissing hard enough to break things. “ _Fuck_ ,” Q mumbled, as Bond’s fingers curled just so, thumb brushing over the tip, falling to pieces.

“My hands are only half as good as my mouth,” Bond promised in a low, rough voice.

Q laced hands in his collar, biting Bond’s lip hard as they kissed, bruising and passionate. Talking was overrated.

At least for this moment, it worked.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo, nsfw prompt please? 00q. I’ve been looking for some orgasm denial fics for 00q, and there aren’t many IF there are any. Could you write some orgasm denial where Bond denies Q for a while <3 Bonus points for begging – anon

Q lay, thin body drawn out across the sheets. His hands were tied by his own bloody tech, handcuffs impossible to pick, even by himself. His body almost vibrated with need as Bond knelt over him, hand holding a slim remote.

“Safe?” he asked, almost gently.

“Pineapple,” Q responded, with a strangled giggle at the ridiculousness of it. “But by _god_ Bond, not yet.”

Bond nodded, smirking at Q’s body. Truly, the man didn’t eat enough; his ribs were just visible, narrow hipbones teasing their way down to Q’s cock, already standing to attention. “Good boy,” Bond told him in a low purr, the praise hitting more than a few buttons for both men. Bond moved upwards from the base of the bed, pausing to suck lightly on Q’s nipples, eliciting a soft gasp.

The feathery touches continued as Bond played the man’s body, brushing his hardening cock with his fingertips, kissing the inside of Q’s thighs. Already Q was gasping, shaking under Bond’s too-tender touches.

“More, you teasing _bastard_!” Q demanded, rutting upwards towards Bond’s body. The agent pulled away, a sharp smack across Q’s arse punishment for swearing; Q instantly silenced, biting his lip as Bond returned to the subtle torture.

Q whined as the gentle fingers drew back, watching as Bond reached for the draw, pulling out a thin cock ring. Q’s eyes widened, but his lips remained sealed as the ring circled him tightly.

“Thought we might try something new,” Bond told him, eyes glinting with a wicked type of joy. Q nodded, as Bond’s attention returned to the remote in his hands. He flicked the dial once, causing the plug lodged in Q’s arse to vibrate lightly, sending waves of pleasure through him.

Q’s body bucked instinctively. “Oh sweet god, that’s good, that is _good,_ ” he moaned, thrusting his hips in the hope of more contact.

“Is it?” Bond asked mockingly, turning the dial down, to Q’s utter dismay. “If it’s that good, I think you might have to earn it.”

Q nodded frantically, eager for the glorious vibrations to begin again. “Please James, god I _need_ it,” Q implored, pressed into the bed, hands flexing uselessly in their bonds.

“Open wide,” Bond told him, straddling the man’s face and holding Q’s hair. Q did as instructed, licking the cock before him, tongue working as fast and diligently as he could. His efforts were rewarded; the dial increased, insistent vibrations against his prostate. Q moaned around the cock gagging his mouth, Bond thrusting deep into his throat as Q relaxed himself.

Oh _god_ , it felt good. The ring was preventing it finally tipping over, holding back the rush, teetering on the very edge without being able to topple over. Bond pulled back, allowing Q space to breath, the younger man reeling, whining with need. “Beg me,” Bond ordered him huskily, closing a hand around his own cock.“Beg me to let you come.”

“Please James, oh _fuck,_ ” Q moaned, rattling the cuffs that held back his hands. Through slits he watched Bond pleasure himself, longed for those fingers, for that touch…

“Not good enough.” Bond smirked, allowing himself a tight squeeze of his own member. “Perhaps I should just leave you here, hmm? Let that plug keep going, until it’s too much, until you’re screaming for me to let you come. I could use you though, fuck your arse raw, take you as I want while you scream for release.”

“No, _no_ please sir, James, please, _please_.” Q babbled, his normally composed syntax dissolving instantly.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Bond noted, listening to Q’s pleas, hands bringing himself closer to his own climax. “More.”

Q’s speech was strangled, fractured. “I’ll do anything, I swear, James I’ll let you do everything, anything, please I need to come, it’s aching, just, _please._ ”

Bond looked to him, judging how far he could push. With one finger, he ran the dial up to the maximum; tears sprang to his Quartermaster’s eyes, the young man bucking and grinding against the plug, fucking himself with the slightly-too-large toy as best he could.

God, it was beautiful.

Bond allowed himself a moment to memorise the sight before slipping off the ring and lying against Q, long fingers wrapped around both their cocks as they came almost in tandem.

Q almost screamed as he came, sobbing frantically with pleasure as he rode out the orgasm. Black spots appeared at the corners of his vision, the world swimming, barely noticing as Bond rolled off him to collapse at his side, speechless, Bond mercifully turning off the toy to leave Q’s over-stimulated arse alone.

Together they breathed through the post orgasmic bliss that engulfed both their bodies.

“Enjoy that?” Bond managed, reaching up to unlock the cuffs, Q’s hands slowly pulling down to his chest.

“What do you think, you wonderful bastard,” Q retorted, curling around Bond’s strong frame, and nuzzling contentedly into his chest.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond are getting it on for the first time, but Q is really self-conscious about his body. Bond gently, kindly coaxes him out of his shell and tells him he’s got nothing to fear because he’s gorgeous and doesn’t need to hide. So much fluff and sweetness I’m getting a cavity just from writing this, psdfdh anyway, if you get round to doing this prompt, thank you <3 – anon

There was a softness, a quietness to Q, a lyricism to his form that was entrancing to remain so close to, to touch freely, to brush the edges of. He was so beautiful, so utterly _compelling_.

And exceptionally uncomfortable, it would seem.

Bond kissed him gently, deepening, Q unconsciously doing everything he could to find more, seek deeper contact. “You gorgeous creature,” Bond purred, teeth grazing Q’s bottom lip, the younger man gasping slightly at the sting.

When his hands slid around Q’s back, gently skimming the bumps of his spine, the indents of ribs, the suggestion of muscle over his abdomen – and Q had fallen utterly, and entirely still.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked, voice gentle, a touch of understandable urgency; he began to flick through worries, if he’d taken it too far, if there was some reason Q wouldn’t want this. “Q?”

Q shook his head slightly, moving closer to Bond; they kissed again, and Q was perfectly fine, right until the moment Bond started to feel him again. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding very cross with himself, frustrated and quiet. “ _Fuck_. I just, I _hate_ this. It’s not you, sorry.”

Bond couldn’t help but feel immensely confused, and more than a little bit concerned. Q managed a slightly awkward smile that was supposed to be encouraging, and succeeded in failing to do anything but scale up the concern. “Do you not want…?”

“I do,” Q interjected, with such emphasis Bond couldn’t help but smirk. He raised an eyebrow slightly, hand closing over Q’s, watching his face fall a little again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, face slightly pink. “I just… look at you, James,” he said, waving slightly at Bond’s body.

Bond raised an eyebrow, smiling sideways. “Yes?” he said slowly, still not understanding.

“You’re an Adonis, and I’m…” Q trailed off, eyebrows contracting, looking caged, eyes black with an internalised anger that had been there a while, the type of pain that lingered, refusing to lift.

It made sudden, abrupt sense. _Oh, Q_.

Bond tugged him closer, wrapped strong arms around him. “You are _perfect_ ,” he said firmly, adamantly. “I don’t care what I am, how I look. I’m looking at _you_.”

Q’s skin flushed ever deeper, prepared to object, still very awkward-looking; it was very odd, for Bond. Q was so confident in work, in his specialist areas; this was outside of his range of experience, and everybody knew Bond was at ease with sex, with sexuality in the broadest sense. Bond could have anybody, and Q couldn’t begin to imagine why in the world Bond would honestly want him.

“Trust me,” Bond murmured, lips by Q’s ear, hands on Q’s sharp hips. “I want you, Q, if you’ll let me?”

A moment of stillness, Q’s lips slightly parted, breathing sporadically; Bond moved against him, mouth trailing over his throat, collarbones, hands exploring every inch of the younger man. “Trust me,” he murmured again, and Q let himself be taken apart.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is really into sex (he’s a total sex addict he just can’t admit it) and invites Bond to a sleezy bar where he hopes he’ll take the hint, but while he’s waiting for Bond he can’t control himself and takes a guy out back where he proceeds to have sex (extra points for erotic asphyxiation) and Bond arrives and heads out back to where Q is, sees them doing it and gets rEALLY DEPRESSED. Q tries and comforts him and its his first time admitting he has a problem – thealmightynibura

Q was immensely bored. He circled a finger around the rim of his glass absentmindedly, wondering whether Bond was ever going to damn well arrive, or if he’d been stood up.

The man who’d bought the drink was leering at him. He would have been perfectly gorgeous, had it not been for his over-enthusiasm in terms of getting Q into bed; Q just raised an eyebrow, knocked back the last of his drink, and willingly followed the man to the back alley. With some luck, he could have a good fuck, and be back soon to meet Bond, if the man was coming.

-

Angling to stop the brick scraping was usually difficult; not so with the man fucking Q, in that moment. He was strong, muscled, showed perfect control in keeping Q’s head back; his throat was exposed and vulnerable, hand wrapped around him, fingers squeezing, windpipe constricting.

Oh, that was an unintentional bonus. These random pickups were usually terrible with anything more interesting than the voyeuristic elements of sex-in-a-back-alley, which was fine, but a little passé as far as Q was concerned. This one was experimenting; he’d tried pinning Q’s wrists, realised Q could outmanoeuvre him. He’d tried being rough, and realised it was a good idea.

Then, he’d tried for a touch of asphyxiation. Q had encouraged him in the strongest terms feasibly possible, and was now struggling for oxygen, vision blurring, agonisingly hard as the man behind him thrust into him with gorgeous abandon, hard and fast, almost _vicious_.

The other man came first, into the condom Q had insisted he wear; he spun Q around, hand still fastened around his throat as Q worked at himself, coming with a low groan into his own fist.

A moment later, Q was relatively alarmed to find other man sprawled over the pavement, and a feral James Bond looking over him. “You arrived,” Q said with vague surprise, hurrying to rearrange his clothing. “My apologies, I…” Q struggled, wondering if there was some way of explaining, Bond’s expression going from livid to utterly blank in the space of a few moments.

Bond was gone before he had the chance.

-

Q knocked on Bond’s door, honestly unsure of what he would say, how he could phrase this appropriately. _I have casual sex with strangers on a relatively frequent basis. I was rather hoping you would be interested in sex with me, too. Problem?_

Somehow, he figured that would go down rather badly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as the door opened. Bond looked at him, expression absolutely merciless, and raised an eyebrow. To Q’s immense relief, he stood back to invite Q in. “Really,” he continued, burbling a little. “It’s just sex, it isn’t… it doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

Bond continued to watch him. “If you think that improves what you’re doing in my eyes, you’re mistaken,” he said coldly, formally. “I know sex, Q, I have a lot of it, double-oh agents are Britain’s best-paid whores. That was different, I’ve not seen that from anybody in a long while. How often?”

Q felt his mouth go a little dry, eyes wide. “Once or twice a week…” he said, a conservative estimate. Bond raised an eyebrow eloquently.

“Has it occurred to you that, perhaps, you have a problem?” Bond asked flatly. He didn’t waste time with niceties or politeness, which was probably for the best; Q debated serious anger, outrage, but couldn’t quite form the words. “That’s irregular behaviour, Q, and you know it.”

Blinking, Q leant against the wall, feeling a little spaced. “Possibly,” he murmured, breathing a little too harshly, very quiet. “Jesus, Bond.”

“Really, I think we’re on first-name terms at this stage,” Bond quipped, and smiled slightly, gesturing the sofa. “Want to talk?”

Q slid bonelessly onto it, numb. “Okay,” he murmured, as Bond poured them both glasses of scotch without a single word.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello you wonderful writer!) I absolutely loved your femslash story about Bond taking Q’s virginity on her desk))) Could you please write something similar but with male Bond and Q. And with more detail and fluff if possible)) You’d make me really happy))) Thanks! – anon

“You are a fucking _menace_ ,” Q breathed, as Bond pinned him against the desk, arms trapping him in place.

Bond just raised an eyebrow, smirked. “You love it,” he growled, kissing Q with the force of a hurricane, sweeping the younger man away quite entirely. Q pushed against him, their bodies twining, Bond smirking against his mouth as Q hardened. “Mmn, enjoying yourself?”

“Tease me, and I’ll make your life hell,” Q rasped, eyes rolling back a little as Bond squeezed him confidently. “Jesus _Christ_. Bond…”

“I think we’re on first name basis by now, hmm?” Bond purred, sucking Q’s earlobe sharply, Q hissing out a sigh. Hands travelled Q’s thin body, fingers dipping into the indents beneath his ribcage, spanning his flat stomach, trailing to his waistband.

Q whined, bucking his hips forward for more. Bond unbuttoned his trousers with deliberately slow movements, pulling them down, Q irritably kicking at them and getting hopelessly tangled; Bond let out a soft laugh, helping him out of them, returning his attention to Q’s hard length. “Fine, _James_ ,” Q managed. “Please.”

Bond chuckled, fingers gently spanning lower, pressing gently against Q’s hole; Q keened a little, hips pushing backwards for more. “A moment,” Bond warned; he pulled a packet of lube out of his front jacket pocket, ignoring Q’s disbelieving cackle as he saw it. “Would you prefer that I didn’t have it?” he asked with mock politeness.

Q’s expression immediately sobered.

Everything went on hold, as Bond’s finger slipped inside. Q let out a soft noise, and Bond raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t done this in a while?” he purred, tongue stroking up the side of Q’s neck, sucking gently.

Q pulled Bond’s head around to look at him properly, the green impossibly bright, glinting. “I haven’t done this at all,” he corrected, with an expression that spoke of honest worry. “Is that…?”

Bond kissed him with all the passion at his disposal, pouring himself into it. “Not a problem,” he managed, a little while later. “Definitely not a problem.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW prompt- Although 007 has been with men, the vast majority of his experience is with women. When Q gives a middling reaction to Bond’s blowjob, Bond sets out to master the art form. – anon

“Mmn,” Q purred, eyes shut, smiling slightly. “Thank you, James.”

Bond sat back, eyebrow raising, daubing Q’s come off from around his mouth. “That’s it?” he asked drily. Q blinked at him, visibly confused. “Q, the first time we fucked properly, you were incoherent for the next half hour. Am I passé already?”

Q couldn’t help a small giggle. “James Bond, doubting his sexual prowess?” Q asked teasingly. “I’m sorry, James, but it wasn’t _stellar_. It was good, fuck, I’m not disputing that for a moment. It was good. But you have stronger suits in bed.”

The raised eyebrow arched practically to Bond’s hairline.

That would be changing imminently.

-

After a day gainfully employed researching oral techniques on the internet, Bond pinned his lover down, ignoring Q’s _are you sure…?_ in favour of a quick lick along Q’s slit, making his cock jump. Bond’s tongue ran lightly over him, tracing patterns along the sensitive skin, his lover all but keening. “It got to you, didn’t it?” Q panted. “That I didn’t…”

“Less talk,” Bond grunted, and all but swallowed Q’s cock.

A startled yelp from Q, a moment of adjustment for Bond. He was still plagued with the annoyance of a gag reflex; he could train himself out of it for this purpose, but it was still damn annoying.

He did everything he conceivably could. Sharper sucks, tongue flattened against the underside of Q’s cock, bobbing languidly before changing speed, bringing his lover ever closer.

Q came with a high cry, and Bond did his level best to swallow everything

Bond rocked back on his heels again, smiling slightly. He raised a querying eyebrow at Q, who snorted a little. “Better,” he acceded, still a little breathless, but altogether more composed than Bond deemed preferable.

Alright, then.

-

Bond practised on bananas. Dildos. If Q had found him, he would never have heard the bloody end of it – but at least he had some way of training himself, becoming more accustomed to a foreign object in his mouth, how to work around it.

When he applied all of his skills to Q, it wound up being relatively impressive. He swallowed Q’s cock down to the base, tongue pressed, swirling, never still. His cheeks hollowed inwards with the force of it, before abruptly pulling back – Q gave a startled keen of want – before descending again, taking him absolutely apart.

Q came with a garbled shriek, hands clenching in Bond’s hair, breath barely forming. He collapsed backwards, completely boneless.

Bond rocked back on his heels, smiling slightly, raising one eyebrow.

Q didn’t reply. He lifted one hand in a thumbs up, rendered completely incapable of actual speech, and collapsed back down again.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get some old fashioned nsfw, lazy, take-their-time lap sex from 00Q? With Q the one riding Bond? Thank you! – anon

Q had wound up laced around Bond’s body, sitting in his lap, bare legs tucked around him, pinning him in place. Bond’s arms had looped around Q’s waist and up his back, keeping them flush, kissing him with languid enjoyment, pulling everything in Q apart with slow precision.

Bond tightened his grip on Q’s body, lifting him up so that he could tug off his trousers one-handed, keeping Q in place as the younger man tried to help and was completely thwarted by Bond. He grinned slightly, the grin remaining in place as he settled on the now bare skin of Bond’s legs, and Bond tucked a hand around to gently play around Q’s erection, fingers trailing to his entrance.

“Lube?” Q asked, nuzzling into Bond’s shoulder; Bond just smirked, reaching into his jacket pocket and tugging out a sachet. “You’re impressive,” Q noted with slight sarcasm, Bond ripping it open with his teeth and slicking his fingers.

All coherency was lost with the first press of fingers against him, the tip of Bond’s finger sliding inside him; Q let out a low sigh, hips moving of their own volition, seeking _more_.

Bond’s mouth trailed over his shoulders, throat, face; Q tried to rearrange his legs, to make it easier on his partner, but Bond really appeared to be having none of it. Q conceded defeat with a soft whine of want, trying to shimmy his hips lower, take Bond in deeper, his hands reaching between their legs to close around both of their cocks.

Two fingers; Bond crooked the digits slightly, making Q gasp. He rewarded the movement with a tug on Bond’s cock, the pair beginning to operate in counterpoint, while Bond stretched him open luxuriously. “Please,” Q murmured in Bond’s ear, suckling on the earlobe. “Want you.”

Hands tugged Q’s body upwards, lining him up; Q let out a soft noise, pulling deeper, moulding his body to Bond’s contours and whining at the lack of motion, rolling his hips, shifting himself up and down Bond’s cock with a soft sound of desperation.

Bond took pity, reaching between their bodies to cradle Q’s length; Q groaned, a little louder now, squeezing his muscles tight before relaxing again, each stroke of Bond’s cock against his prostate causing a little shiver of arousal, building higher, drawing him closer to release.

Meanwhile, Bond is all but losing control; he pushes harder, hands tight around Q’s hips, encouraging himself to move faster, _fuck_ , yes.

A sharp groan, and Bond came into Q’s body; Q’s noise caught abruptly in his throat, taken over by a distinct moan as Q’s entire body shuddered, and he came hard, spurting hotly over their bodies.

Q curled his head over Bond’s shoulder, breathing erratically. “Love you,” he mumbled, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his lover’s neck.

Bond smiled slightly, revelling in the novelty of _that sentence_ , of being with somebody who made it possible for him to reply: “I love you, too.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond go swimming. Pool sex ensues. – anon

“Oh now that’s just not fair…” Bond muttered, as Q dived gracefully into the moonlit water. He watched the lithe form of his Quartermaster gliding under the water for a few second, distorted and pale, before he re-emerged.

He ruffled the hair that had stuck to his face, grinning. “You coming in?”

“And here I was thinking that we would be swimming…” Bond smirked, slipping into the pool. It was a private villa, MI6 owned, in the very south of France, by the Pyrenees; the weather had been in the thirties and neither of them had ventured outside in fear of burning.

The evening had been wonderful though, with Bond showing off the rather surprising fact that he could actually make his own, rather fine, martini. And pina colada. And blue long island.

Q, therefore, had fully encouraged the idea of a midnight swim. Naturally they had sobered up – it was past midnight after all – but the enthusiasm had remained. The whole idea, in Bond’s mind, was that he would be presented with an excellent opportunity to show off both impressive swimming skills and, more impressive swimmer’s body. It turned out that it was his young lover that was stealing the show, already completing two lengths easily.

And naturally, he was naked.

Shaking his head, Bond approached, looping his arms around Q’s narrow waist. Q leaned back against him, soaking skin moving slickly against Bond’s torso.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Q protested, as Bond kissed along his neck and jaw.

Bond breathed heavily into Q’s ear, murmuring hotly: “With you looking…like that.” Q blushed, invisible in the moonlight.

“You know I could misconstrue this as sexual harassment,” Q retorted, maintaining at least some of his dignity. He turned, wrapping his arms around Bond’s neck and kissing him deeply.

Once they had broken apart, Bond smirked. “You could do, certainly.”

“Hmm, wouldn’t be very fun now, would it?” Q responded, in his perfectly clipped accent. Before Bond could answer, Q’s lips were on him again, bodies pressed slickly together.

From then on, talking seemed a little bit superfluous.

Bond reached down, groping Q’s arse. Q moaned, head tilted back as Bond moved from his arse to his cock, stroking him into hardness under the water. Q smiled lazily, the residual alcohol buzzing in his system. “Let me,” he breathed, taking both himself and his lover in hand, thin fingers pressing their erections together. Bond gasped, grunting as he bucked against Q, kissing him once again. Water swirled around them, as Q’s speed increased, Bond becoming increasingly more possessive, nipping and biting at his Quartermaster’s pale skin.

“More, oh god James…” Q panted, craning his neck back for more contact.

“Out.” Bond managed, dragging Q to the steps. “Don’t want to get cum in the pool,” he explained, smirking at Q’s frustrated expression.

“007, if you don’t fuck me right now…” He panted, dragging Bond on top of him as they lay on the tiled pool side.

“Certainly,” Bond agreed, bodies twisting around each other in the night.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, we definitely need more Q and Bond sexy fun shower time!!!! - jellybabies2manual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: consent issues

The door clicked open. Q turned, surprised, as Bond entered the bathroom.

“That door was locked,” he said dumbly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Bond looked a mess, barely out of medical, cut still bloody on his cheek. “I opened it,” he replied simply.

Both were silent for a moment, the water pounding against Q’s naked back.

“I didn’t think you were back until Tuesday…” Q said, going to turn off the shower.

“Leave it on,” Bond instructed him, stripping off his tattered evening wear.

“Are you al..?” Q began, the look he was shot was enough to stop the sentence midway. “Maybe I should leave you to clean up,” Q suggested, as Bond threw off his underwear and opened the shower door.

“Stay.” Bond asked, voice surprisingly quiet, eyes not meeting Q’s as he grabbed the young man’s arm. “Please.”

Q looked at him, water splashing against Bond’s broken body, and nodded. Bond followed, kissing him fiercely; Q responded as best he could, trying to keep up as Bond turned him roughly, face pressed against the cool glass casing.

“Slow, please, James…” Q pleaded, as Bond groped his arse, fingers finding his entrance. At his voice, James hissed, slowly pressing a finger into Q’s body. Q gasped, trying to force his body to relax.

MI6 was a merciless creature, it took in bloodied orphans and spat them out again via the cogs and spirals of politics and warzones. James Bond was simply another casualty. He needed this. And Q had to give it, there was no one else. Other people could never understand how it felt, to pull the triggers, to order the shots. The guilt that weighed heavier than any body could contain. Sometimes the mind snapped; it needed a release, a moment to be in control of ones self, ones lover, anything. To reassure them that they were still alive, still holding onto the last vestige of their humanity, still having some vague hold on what they were doing, where they were going.

Q whined, half in pain, half in desperate need as Bond added another finger, the burning stretch feeling so appalling good. That was his secret: the man with all the strings sometimes needed someone to pull his own, to lose himself, to submit. Bond was panting, fucking his own fist, as hot water poured over the pair of them

“Ready?” he managed, bending Q further forward. Q nodded, knowing he was too tight, knowing it would hurt, knowing Bond knew it too.

Bond thrust into Q’s body, both of them crying out at the pressure; Bond set a punishing rhythm in seconds, Q’s fingers scrabbling at the wet walls. “More!” he begged, body buckling under the strain. Bond’s arm wrapped around him, holding him up as he fucked the thin body beneath him.

Red washed down their bodies, pooling in the drain as Q _screamed_ , body shuddering dramatically. Bond moaned, eyes rolling back as he came punching his fist against the wall.

For a moment neither moved, Q limp in Bond’s arms. Slowly, reality resumed.

“Q…”

Suddenly it was Bond’s legs that buckled, sinking them both down against the wall. Q lay, propped up between Bond’s legs, as Bond’s head lolled onto his pale shoulder. Q reached up a trembling hand, stroking his soaking hair.

Bond was muttering repetitively, entire body heavy and unmoving. “I’m so, I’m so, so…”

Q’s back pressed against Bond’s torso, both breathing together. “It’s alright, it’s…It’ll be alright,” Q reassured him, repeating the mantra as cold water drenched them. As he moved, the water reddened again, Q pressing their foreheads together and kissing him desperately. “It’ll be alright.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god nsfw uniform kink 00Q I’m begging you – anon

“Officer,” Bond growled, Q feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Report to my cabin after your watch finishes.”

Q nodded, the men around him offering him sympathetic looks. To be called into the Commander’s office was never a pleasant experience and despite his quiet demeanour, Q was a surprisingly well liked crew member.

How little they knew.

For the rest of the day, Q was unable to truly focus, his mind and eyes drawn again and again to his lover. When, finally, he was relieved, he found himself almost running to see Bond.

Once again, Bond was stood in full regalia, waiting. Q swallowed, feeling his trousers beginning to tighten at the sight before him; Bond was terrifyingly austere, but in a way that made Q want to all-out  _moan_.

“Any idea why I have called you here, officer?” Bond asked, indicating for Q to take a seat.

Q’s mouth ran dry. Apparently, the game was changing. They were in role, and _staying_  in role. He obediently sat in the chair, glancing up at Bond.

“No sir,” he answered softly, as Bond stepped behind him, hands on his shoulders.

“Your work,” Bond told him, gloved hands looking frankly obscene against Q’s neck. “It’s not up to scratch.”

“No sir?” Q asked with a slight note of genuine petulance, as Bond’s fingers trailed up and down his throat.

“No, I hear rumours that you are brilliant, not merely  _good_  or  _average_ ,” Bond told him, Q leaning back into his touch on pure instinct. “And frankly I won’t have you working at less than your best.”

Q gasped, Bond’s hand tightening a little over his throat. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you sir.”

“I am going to have to discipline you, you realise?” he asked, millimetres from Q’s ear, breath making Q shiver.

Bond kissed his neck firmly, bruising and breaking. Q would be in his scarf for a few days. “Yes sir,” he moaned.

“Too loud,” Bond reprimanded, removing his gloves, bundling them up and shoving them into Q’s mouth. “Wouldn’t want to be interrupted now, would we?”

The fabric, beautiful stuff, coating the inside of Q’s mouth; he was aching now. Just _looking_  at Bond’s body, so beautifully clad, so wonderful. Q felt himself rut against the seat, trying for some friction.

“Oh no, officer,” Bond told him, cupping Q’s erection with a too-firm grip. “Don’t forget yourself.”

Q shook his head, shoulders slumping slightly as Bond pulled him up from the chair and moved them over to the desk.

“Look at that arse,” Bond was muttering. “It’s a distraction, officer.”

Q smiled faintly as he was pushed over the desk, and Bond proceeded to smack Q’s arse repeatedly. Q moaned into the gloves as each blow landed; beneath the combats his cheeks were reddening at the force.  “Not enough,” Bond growled, unzipping his flies and stroking himself as Q thrust against the desk.

He couldn’t help himself; Q’s pert behind looked perfect in the pressed trousers, and far better without. Bond yanked them down confidently, listening to the belt buckle clunk against the floor. Smirking wickedly, he removed his own belt, doubling it over and laying a stinging strip across Q’s already reddened arse.

Behind the makeshift gag, Q yelped. Bond paused, looking to his lover for a brief confirmation; Q nodded, and Bond continued, letting the leather meet its mark. Occasionally he would aim inwards, a hair’s breadth away from Q’s exposed balls, and the man  _whined_ with need.

Bond knelt, hands snaking round to exposed hipbones as his tongue teased Q’s entrance.

Q’s knees buckled as Bond’s tongue licked and touched and delved inside him, opening him, slicking him. One finger slid in easily as Bond worked, licking the tense muscle. Another finger, a beautiful burn as Q fucked himself on Bond’s fingers. Finally, Bond couldn’t stand it; he turned Q around, lifting one pale leg over his shoulder and tilting Q towards him.

“Want to see you,” he managed, lining himself up and thrusting slowly into the exposed man. Q’s scream was swallowed by the gag as Bond thrust again, Q’s hands scrabbling at Bond’s uniform. He managed to get a hold and pulled them tighter, pulling Bond deeper. It didn’t take long before Bond came inside him, shuddering against the desk.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, every inch a naval Commander. Q nearly came from the words alone, still dripping with Bond’s orgasm he wrapped a hand around his own erection, pumping furiously. Bond watched hungrily, the world still spinning. Q’s back arched away from the desk, he was still fully dressed from the waist up, nude legs shaking as he came.

“Good work.” Bond confirmed, as he caught Q in his arms. Slowly he removed his gloves, allowing Q to gasp and splutter his gratitude.

“Oh god James, that… that.” Q managed, arm looped around Bond’s shoulders.

“We will be keeping the uniforms then?” Bond asked, smirking.

“Yeah. Yeah we will be.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waiter!AU is fantastic :D Continue it, pretty please? – icannothelpthethingsIdo

Q came off his shift, and literally ran straight into James Bond. “Hello,” he said quickly, blushing slightly as the gentleman looked him up and down with unapologetic approval. “Sorry, busy shift. Erm… are you…?”

Bond extended an elbow for Q to hang onto. He looked at it with confusion, looked up again. “Forgive me, but we’ve only just met, and I’m usually capable of walking without falling over,” he said, ignoring the arm in question. “Where are we going?”

Oh, Bond liked him. His previous imaginings took on a new slant; the acerbic comments muted, the words reduced to quiet begs and the manners that his job gave him. He was clever, clearly, sharp and beautiful, and Bond watched him as though he was liable to disappear in an instant

Q glanced back, eyes almost dancing. “Are you alright?” he asked, almost cheekily.

Bond grinned roguishly, not bothering to conceal his glances. “You’re a beautiful man,” he said simply.

For a delectable moment, Q seemed utterly taken-aback.

"Erm, thank you," he managed after a few moments of shock. There was more than a small part of his mind wondering if this man was pulling his leg. That he was going to be dumped in the middle of nowhere and mocked.

That suspicion was muted somewhat when Bond paused, staring a Q in a way that he had never seen before.

Bond watched the young man swallow, seeing his Adam’s apple bob deliciously in his swanlike throat; by the end of the night that beautiful neck would be coated in marks. _His_  marks. The boy pinned down, whining, bruises rising across him.

Drinks first, the boy wasn’t some cheap whore. Bond reprimanded himself, attempted to quell his growing desire. “Drinks?” Bond asked; on a whim sliding an arm around Q’s back.

The man blushed, but said nothing. Bond smirked.

The club had a queue wrapping half way around the building, bouncers at the door leering at anyone who appeared vaguely working class. This was a high end bar, Bond had chosen rather specifically - image was everything at this point.

"Are you planning on bribing the bouncer or simply beating him up?" Q asked, tugging out of Bond’s grip. He glanced at Bond again; the man was well built, he might be able to honestly pull off the latter.

"Neither," Bond told him, walking up to the bouncer with terrifying calm.

The man looked him up and down, “Name?” he grunted.

"Bond, James Bond," Bond told him, smirking.

The man almost dropped his pen. "Of course, Mr Bond - and your friend, please come in," he almost fell over himself lifting the rope and letting the pair in.

Bond revelled in the wide-eyed look of shock on his young companion’s face. Clearly didn’t get to places like this much; Bond would have to change that, he thought with no small degree of smugness.

It was only once they were sat in a booth, martini in front of Bond and a daquiri for Q, did Q speak again. "CEO, Crime boss or secret agent?" he asked sipping his drink casually.

Bond raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his martini. “Why those three?”

"Only three that would get you into a place like this, with a build like yours," Q shrugged.

Bond laughed. “CEO’s tend to be fat and balding; I’m contemplating offence.”

"You clearly haven’t met that many CEO’s" Q teased, the alcohol slipping into his system by increments. He hadn’t had time to eat properly, his shift taking over, so the drink was hitting his head, conversation coming easily.

An hour and a half later, and Bond was sitting, arm around Q’s shoulders, the boy happily tipsy. He shifted, lips against Q’s ear. "Would you like to come back to mine?" he asked, stubble brushing Q’s cheek.

The young waiter blushed, looking down to the table briefly. "I…" he began, looking up at the man, whose smirk was practically predatory. "Yes, yes I’d love to."

-

Q gasped as Bond pressed him up against the door in his flat. Bond’s lips on him, hips grinding into his own, intense and passionate and driven.

“ _J-James_ …” Q managed, the name turning into a whine as Bond squeezed his arse.

Bond growled, lifting the beautiful man up and moving them to the bedroom. “You know, I think I’d prefer if you called me ‘sir’,”

Q’s face turned to absolute confusion.

This was the moment Bond feared; the moment the young man would walk out the door without further discussion, wanting nothing to do with him.

The confusion cleared a heartbeat later, a small smile crossing his expression, eyes darkening with calculated want.

"Yes  _sir_ ,” he breathed, exactly as he had done earlier that evening.

Bond moaned, moving down to kiss him firmly. "Good boy," he purred, relieving Q of his shirt and pushing him to lie on the bed. Q was panting, clever comments stolen by the sheer need to  _breathe_ , the sight of Bond’s body stealing all air.

The agent looked down at Q, the young man he’d acquired on a whim, fingers twitching to his throat. Q saw, and  _craned his damn neck_.

Bond swallowed, moving a hand to the boy’s throat, hearing,  _feeling_  the snatch of breath.

"Who do you belong to?" Bond asked in a low growl, unbuttoning Q’s flies with his free hand.

Q’s eyelids fluttered at the slight pressure, body buckling very slightly. “You, sir,” he managed, moaning as the airflow blocked further, each inhale rasping faintly.

Bond smirked, diving his fingers down into Q’s underwear, squeezing the man’s half-hard cock. "Correct,” he breathed in Q’s ear, and let go; oxygen flooded back into Q’s system, reddening his cheeks. Q gasped, keening a moment later as bond teased his cock with clever fingers.

Q breathed, crawling onto his knees and Bond moved away from him, longing for the contact. Bond smirked, grabbing Q’s hair, quirking an eyebrow to see how he would react. He stilled, pale shoulders relaxing in a beatific signal of submission; Bond growled at the sight, unzipping his flies and pulling Q forward.

The man’s lips fixed around the tip of his erection, sucking him down greedily, tongue flicking convulsively; he pulled back for an instant before running his tongue over the slit, hands moving to the base of Bond’s erection, thin fingers around him as his mouth worked the tip. Bond’s hand stayed in Q’s hair, murmuring words of praise as he received a truly spectacular blow job.

The temptation to come down the boy’s clever throat was near enough overwhelming, but Bond prevented himself, thinking of that tight little arse; he had watched Q across the restaurant the entire evening, the man wearing perfectly fitting trousers, showing Bond  _everything_.

Bond let go, reaching for lube; Q looked up at him, lips swollen from the pounding and pupils wide with lust. "Prepare yourself for me," Bond instructed, ripping into a condom with his teeth and rolling it over himself.

"Yes sir," Q blushed, taking the lube and shimming out of his trousers. He moved to all fours, reaching around to his arse and sliding a finger into himself. Q felt a shudder of deep arousal, squeezing hard to stave off the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm him; he moaned obscenely as he fucked his finger, stretching himself out.

Bond grunted with want; a second finger, and Q gasped, a small wince of pain contorting his features. Bond moved forward and kissed him deeply, distracting him as he scissored himself open.

Q glanced down at Bond’s impressive cock and decided to add a third finger, moaning and keening as he prepared for what was to happen. "Are you ready for me?" Bond asked roughly, in between kisses. Q nodded, face contorted in lust as he rode his fingers.

"What was that?" Bond asked, grasping Q’s jaw firmly, twisting his face towards him.

"Y-yes, s-sir," Q stuttered, incapable of much else as Bond flipped him onto his back and lined himself up; Bond reached down, pinning Q’s hands above his head. "Beg me," breathed, watching as Q tried to bear down on him, needing to be filled, to be used.

Q bit his lip, writhing slightly. “Do it, or you get  _nothing_ ,” Bond spat.

"Please,  _please_  sir!” Q panted, Bond luxuriating in the pleas, Q’s pleas bubbling on his lips and tongue, falling out of him. “Sir, please…”

"Please what?" Bond asked, teasing Q’s entrance, a centimetre inside and refusing to go deeper.

"Please fuck me, please sir,  _please_  fuck me,” Q practically screamed; Bond lost all will to resist, plunging himself into Q’s welcoming heat.

Bond let out a low gasp, shifting slightly, allowing Q to adjust; Q, however, was having none of it. He tried to move, fidgeting under Bond’s heavy body, seeking more.

Bond’s eyes narrowed.

"Don’t you dare move," he instructed, grip too tight around Q’s wrists. "This goes at my pace."

Q nodded, words merging as he called incoherently for _deeperharderpleasepleasesirmoreplease_. Bond obliged, thrusting hard into Q’s arse, mouth on that pretty neck, nipping and biting and licking at the skin, raising red-purple marks on the pale skin.

Q’s erection was pinned between Bond’s stomach and his own, every thrust increasing the friction until he came, cum slicking both of their skin as Bond continued, Q spasming around him.

"You came before me?" Bond murmured, thrusting almost painfully into Q’s abused arse.

Q keened,  _I’msorrysirI’msorry_ ,as Bond came within him, sucking and biting at Q’s nipples; he paused, riding out his orgasm for a few blinding moments, before pulling out carefully and lying next to his newfound lover.

"You’ll make it up to me next time," Bond assured him, pulling Q close as their breathing matched, panting. "You won’t come for hours, not until you have  _passed_ begging, until you scream…”

"Is that a promise sir?" Q asked dopily, curling against Bond’s toned body.

The agent smiled, kissing Q’s head.

"You know it.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (00Q, Johnlock, and Mystrade) The Holmes are having the annual family portrait done and drag along their partners, let smut ensue! - hulkeyes bitch.

"Oh  _god_!” Q moaned, as Mycroft moved behind him, fingers teasing him as Sherlock licked a stripe up his erection. Sherlock looked up with a wicked smile, cupid bow lips sinking down, swallowing the head of Q’s cock.

"You know we really must get together more often," Mycroft commented as he pulled his fingers out of his brother’s arse, lining himself up and thrusting into Q’s body.

Q moaned, leaning back against Mycroft, as Sherlock continued to suck him off. “My my, James  _has_  been enjoying you,” Mycroft commented, making Q blush.

Sherlock pulled away, unzipping his flies and standing in front of Q. Q opened his mouth greedily, as Sherlock thrust into his mouth, Mycroft’s hands steadying his hips.

"What the hell?"

James Bond stood at the door, watching the scene before him. Q pulled away, blushing furiously.

"This is what you get for sleeping with secret agents," Sherlock muttered darkly, debating dragging Q’s mouth back to him.

“James?” John called, following him, “The photographer called, says he’s going to be l…oh  _jesus_!”

Sherlock turned to the door; still shirtless, erection slicked with Q’s saliva, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"How are you still enjoying this?" Q asked Mycroft, who was – quite inexplicably – still fully hard within him.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, “Voyeur Q,” he reminded, thrusting slightly making Q moan.

"That’s…" James breathed, shifting slightly; the three men together was one of the most beautifully debauched things he had ever seen.

To his mild shame, he had never been harder.

"Incest."

Greg had found them too, was a few steps back, similarly watching the three Holmes brothers being less than brotherly. Mycroft didn’t even bother to blush as his partner watched, speechless, literally helpless in terms of what he could possibly do now.

"Can we discuss this later?" Sherlock asked, stroking himself. "After I’ve come?"

Bond broke first; he moved closer to the brothers, sending a look back at the two other men, vaguely apologetic. “I am only human, gents.”

Sherlock smirked, grasping Q’s hair once again and guiding him down. John looked to Lestrade, eyebrows raised.

"This is illegal isn’t it?"

Greg nodded, still completely sideswiped.

"Will you tell anyone?" he asked, mouth dry as he watched Sherlock receive what looked like a truly spectacular blow job; Q moaned with merry abandon, Bond’s hands now joining everybody else’s, whimpering as Bond’s hand closed around him.

"Who would believe me?" Lestrade asked rhetorically, and sighed, with the type of almost-guilt that came of a decision he wasn’t quite sure he was going to regret.

The pair of them moved further into the room, closing the door behind them.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love your fics, and the first 00Q one that I ever read was written by you, thank you for being amazing. Also can I ask for some smut with top!Q, preferably gentle lovemaking if that’s not a trouble. – anon

"Are you sure James?" Q asked as Bond opened the draw, taking out the necessaries. "I really don’t mind if…"

Bond kissed him silent, stroking down Q’s body. “I want to feel you inside me,” he breathed, “I want that beautiful body of yours pressed against me.”

Q felt his mouth go dry, Bond was rarely vulgar, but some of his polite suggestions were positively obscene.

He took a deep breath. “On your hands and knees, Mr Bond,” Q instructed, voice heavy with lust as Bond did as he was asked. Q swallowed, he looked positively debauched, perfectly toned arse in the air, ready for him.

"It may be a little sore," Q told him, kissing the base of Bond’s spine as he reached for the lube. It was numbing stuff, designed to make the first time a little easier. Q opened the bottle, slicking his fingers. He paused, considering, before lying himself under Bond’s body, taking the top of his cock between his lips as his fingers toyed with his arse.

Bond moaned as he felt wet heat envelope him, thrusting lightly into Q’s mouth as Q slid the first finger in. Bond gasped at the intrusion, Q sucking harder to distract him from the sudden fullness. He had been curious naturally, trying once or twice with his own fingers – but this was very different. Q didn’t move for a while, allowing Bond to adjust, finally he started a slow thrust, in and out as he maintained the blow job.

Bond was moaned, rocking on the single slim digit. Q pressed with a second finger, lube slicking the way as he felt Bond stretch. The agent grunted. “ _Too much,_ " he said quickly, and Q nodded, pulling out and giving him time. After a few minutes of gentle teasing, two fingers were inside and moving easily. For once in his life, Q was grateful to not quite be hung like a horse; he wasn’t bad, but had he been Bond’s size this would have been a lot more painful.

Finally, he knelt behind the man, fully erect from the gorgeous image of the man in front of him, whining as Q brushed every sensitive spot he could find. He pulled out his fingers, lining up.

"Are you sure love?" he managed, as Bond rolled his eyes.

"Bloody sure, now hurry up," Bond snapped, lust overwhelming his senses. It was all Q needed, he thrust in slowly, wincing as he heard Bond’s low growl.

"Are you…?"

"I’m not glass Q, I’ll adapt, god you feel good…" Bond panted.

Soon, they reached a steady rhythm, Q moaning at the feel of his lover clenched around him. He hadn’t done this in too long, loving the sounds he could elicit as he thrust, reaching around and stroking Bond’s cock until the man was teetering on the edge. Pain forgotten, he bore down on Q forcefully, taking him to the hilt.

"That’s…" Bond managed as they reached a punishing pace, Q’s slim hip bones almost digging into him as he hammered forward. Q came with a sharp yell, falling onto Bond’s back bonelessly. Bond ground his teeth in frustration; he was so  _close_.

Q’s hand moved on him again, giving him the final few tugs needed to send his mind shooting up into the stars.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellow! <3 Prompt : My last gifset “Q is a famous star. James is his chauffeur. This is very scandalous, passionate love …” (sex in the car on the side of the road,please?). – shipimpala

Q stared out the window, watching the world pass with absolute boredom – which was annoying, to say the least. He was twenty-six today, and was spending the entirety of the day travelling so he could headline at his newest film premier.

It was a good life, certainly, but he did rather miss the traditional birthday-type things, the niceties of waking up with somebody and laughing, opening presents, cake. Little things, really, but nice all the same.

His chauffeur watched him in the rear-view mirror, eyebrow raised. “All alright, Q?” he asked lightly.

Q smiled back; he had known James Bond for a while now, had employed him nearly two years ago and not looked back since. Bond was a great conversationalist, an almost-good driver (barring some questionable legality in speed and manoeuvres), and one of Q’s closest friends.

Oh, and they occasionally fucked each other, just because.

“Fine,” he replied simply, leaning back on his headrest. “It’s my birthday.”

Bond smirked. “I’m aware,” he returned cheekily. “Not the most exciting of birthdays, really. I was debating giving you a proper present.”

Q winced a little. “As chat-up lines go, that was truly one of the most appalling I’ve heard recently,” he said with a vague moan, and a smile to take out the sting. “Honestly, James.”

“I don’t have to,” he pointed out.

Q grinned. “Pull over, and get in here,” he ordered sharply; Bond smiled, pulling onto the goddamn  _hard shoulder_  of the motorway. He opened his door, darted into the back seat by Q, and kissed him with force enough to bruise.

Bond was breathtakingly powerful, and Q honestly loved it. With precious little scope to engage in an open, homosexual relationship while working as a rather high-ranking actor, he was more than happen to remain with Bond. He  _liked_  Bond. With every time they fucked like this, shared space, shared everything, he liked him increasingly more.

To the extent that, as Bond’s lips trailed down his torso, coming closer to his groin, he wondered if it would be so wrong if they actually  _stayed_  together.

Bond’s lips closed around him, and Q whined slightly, hips bucking; Bond kept him pinned in place with deliciously strong hands, teeth suggesting against the sensitive skin of his cock, Q gasping as Bond swallowed him down and for a brief and lovely moment, Q saw stars. “Fuck me,” he said, in a half-commanding tone that was slightly undermined by the faint keen.

A moment later, Bond’s hands had moved upwards, blue eyes capturing his. “This doesn’t have to ever stop,” he murmured, low and sensual, hands gliding along Q’s bare thighs. “I’m just letting you know. If you want.”

Q shuddered out a breath, unable to quite believe it.

Bond laughed a little as Q kissed him with the passion of a teenager, and proceeded to delve his fingers around Q’s entrance, sliding inside as Q shuddered out  _yesyesyesyes_ in his ear.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Your writing is so wonderful and I enjoy it so much. I have a nsfw prompt, if you don’t mind. Q, who is usually shy and conservative in bed is doing rimming for Bond. Q wants to show how special Bond is for him. James is really surprised (in a good way) because even through his great sexual experience no one has ever done such a thing for him. So he wants to do something special for Q too. What will it be is up to you) – anon

The Quartermaster’s tongue was a wicked thing; clever, sharp and currently trailing down Bond’s toned chest. He gasped, body rising up from the bed. He could feel his body responding, cock hardening within his boxers.

He shifted lower, and Bond all but keened; Q was usually so bloody restrained, tentative and almost inexperienced. Certainly, he had been intimidated by Bond’s supposed sexual prowess, but had now calmed down a little.

And was, it transpired,  _bloody_  good in bed.

He moaned as Q’s fingers teased at his flies, unzipping suit trousers and slipping them down Bond’s toned legs. The boxers followed swiftly, exposing Bond’s impressive erection. Q licked at him tentatively, toying with the head before swallowing him down. Bond smiled blissfully, head back against the pillows as Q lapped at him, cheeks hollowing as he sucked.

He shifted upwards, smiling wickedly, before hands reached to Bond’s hips, and coaxed him around. “Q, I…”

"Shh," Q said softly, with a light smile. "I want to do something for you. Please."

Bond just raised an eyebrow, and very nearly choked as he felt Q’s tongue against his entrance, flicking lightly.

"Oh god…" Bond gasped. "You… are you sure?"

"Positive," Q breathed, warm air tickling Bond’s skin. "Please James - if you’re alright with it."

"Yes, brilliant, that feels…" His voice was stopped by another lick at his arse, working at him lightly.

It was absolutely breathtaking. Q knew exactly what to do, where to press and touch, and Bond swallowed slightly and breathed, impossibly hard. “Fuck, Q. Just  _fuck_ …”

When he came, it was bloody  _explosive._

He breathed, stars receding from his vision with some difficulty. “Christ,” he managed. “Don’t know how in the hell I’ll make this up to you,  _fuck_. Thank you.”

"Has no one ever done that to you before?" Q asked, a slight smirk playing at his features.

"No," Bond admitted, stroking a thumb along Q’s cheek.

Q smiled in soft satisfaction, settling back on the back. “Now,” Bond murmured, feeling a little more in control of his various faculties. “Let me return the favour. Something you might like?”

Q shrugged lightly. “You don’t have to, James…”

Bond grinned, flipped Q onto his front. Before the younger man could say another word, Bond’s hands were confidently on his shoulders.

Bond’s massages were legendary, and Q began to understand why; Bond worked his fingers deeper into Q’s muscles, kneading out the tension as Q sighed happily. He worked down, shaking his head.

"You need to do this more often," Bond commented, feeling the knots in Q’s lower back. "Desk jobs…"


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt; sub!Bond: it is very difficult to get Bond anywhere near subspace, so once he goes down he goes down further and stays down longer than most subs. Bonus points if it is nsfw, and cookies if it’s Bond’s PoV – anon

Searing pain, sudden and sharp, spiked with desperate and immediate arousal.

Eloquent green, cutting into him, a stingingly sharp gaze.

The crop fell, harsh, splitting skin; a thin string, joining others, wounds itching with salt sweat and hot blood. Breathing heavy, sheets sticky beneath him.

Hipbones. Hipbones digging into his body, into his flesh, into his skin, in and in.

Thoughts spiralled frenetically, work and death and luck and bad and pain and Skyfall and home and Skyfall and  _M_  and Skyfall _Skyfall_ …

Everything thrummed, beating in a curious tandem with his pounding heartbeat, the steady and repeated strike and the slow trace, the dark trace of blood and skin and _pain_ , pulling him away, pulling him out of his thoughts and concentrating  _inwards_ , trying to blot everything out for a moment,  _desperate_  to make everything stop.

Physical arousal building, lips pressed against his neck, throat, chest, jaw, cock. Fingers trailing over him, pulling him apart, parting him and pushing and breaching and pulling back again, cloth over his eyes, blinded but aware, far  _too_  aware. Heartbeat increasing, blow still landing, breaching in and out and back and harder, fingers tightening over his throat, pulse quick and desperate and banging against his ribcage, thoughts still flitting, skirting around his skull as breath stopped, shuddered, hesitated, swimming and falling and dark.

Skin tugging on bed sheets, hips rutting, hipbones so sharp, cutting him open, blood and sweat and harsh breath hitching and increasing volume, speed, sharp raking nails and teeth and kisses and softness in the pain, a cold edge, something terrifyingly cold and utterly trustworthy, sharp green, so much sharp green.

_Work and death and pain and M and Skyfall and blood and water and drowning and life and breath and China and cyanide…_

Caught breath, hitching, cries and sobs and god knew who or what or where, sounds and sensation narrowing in, only sensation, only thought and want and thought…

_And M and Skyfall and blood and gunshots and smoke and…_

An abruptly harsh thrust, fingers bruising into a hip and his shoulder, a cry that Bond echoed and everything shuddered, everything whited out.

_Q._


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I’m biggest fan of our writing and I feel that time I send my prompt has come :D Maybe you could write some sexy times fic that involves BAMF!Bond and cheeky!Q? I’d love to read some spanking fic… ;) – anon

The Quartermaster’s desk was an almost-neatly arranged assortment of wires, computers and notes, scattered with a few pens and a mug or two or twenty. There was one that he had been cultivating for almost two months, and the culture that had developed rivalled that of a small African island.

"Bond?" Q called, his earpiece nestled in place. "When did you get back?"

"It’s perpetually reassuring that you don’t know that, Quartermaster," his partner replied with a slight chuckle. "Five minutes ago, am on my way to Q-branch now."

Q raised an eyebrow, reaching for his latest mug. “Your debrief?”

"After yours," Bond smirked; Q rolled his eyes slightly, more than aware of what Bond was implying.

"Three weeks without sex and you are a horny man-child," Q muttered accusingly. "I might be busy, you realise?"

Q smiled to himself as he found Bond’s signal, tracing it through the MI6 corridors. “My need is greater,” Bond told him over the earpiece, making Q grin.

"Is it now?" he asked, locking his doors via a few quick keystrokes. "A little pathetic, don’t you think love?" he teased, sliding a hand down to his own groin, not even trying to pretend he hadn’t been waiting for Bond’s return for the precise same reasons. "Three weeks without me and I bet you’re already aching. Ruining your trousers yet?"

"Not yet, though if you continue this way you will be paying for my dry cleaning," Bond told him, breath coming a little short as he came closer to Q-branch.

"Got you all riled have I?" Q mocked, massaging himself though his trousers. "I thought double-ohs were meant to have self control? Or at least  _stamina_ …”

Bond pushed open the door to Q-branch, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll show you stamina…”

"I’d love to see it, in all its fabled glory. Unless you’re getting old?" Q continued, feeling himself hardening against the seam of his trousers. Tea forgotten, he leant back, luxuriating in his chair. "Maybe I should go for a younger model?"

A growl was all he got in response as Bond tapped his sign-in code and scanned his retina, listening to Q continuing. “Somebody in branch, maybe someone with a few more IQ points, someone nice and firm and…”

His insults were lost as Bond’s fist hammered against his door. Q chuckled, unzipping his flies and merrily masturbating while Bond became noticeably angrier, Q-branch minions busily examining their desks.

"You let me in, I swear Q…"

Q ignored him; Bond plucked a Q-branch minion seemingly out of thin air, the terrified boy looking over the double-oh who was three times his size in sheer muscle. “Open the door, or I swear, I will end your career in a humiliating and painful fashion,” Bond growled at the unfortunate.

The office was opened in less than two minutes.

Q was almost over the edge, keening slightly as he came closer, fucking his fist. Bond slid in the room, door slamming, and  _pounced_  on his partner. Q let out a petulant whine as Bond wrenched his hands away, grappling his lover out of his chair and sending them both sprawling across the carpet.

"Missed me then old ma…"

Q never finished the sentence; Bond had dragged down Q’s trousers to his ankles, pulling him up abruptly to bend him over the desk. Then, to Q’s shock and definite enjoyment, Bond had landed a firm slap on his arse. Q moaned, “Oh god…” he managed, as Bond continued, reddening the skin and making Q buck slightly for friction, unable to find any.

"A little respect," Bond told him as he smacked Q so hard the man rutted against the desk, destroying what little organisation had once existed there. "… would go a long way."

"Respect for my, ah, elders?" Q managed snarkily as Bond continued, pausing for a moment to admire his work; Q’s erection had not even slightly flagged, inner masochist pining for more.

Bond rolled his eyes, delivering a harsher smack. “For your friends, superiors, for  _me_.”

"Yes," Q gasped, clever mouth lost for words as he rutted against his own desk. "God, _James_ …”

"Yes what?" Bond asked, indulging himself a little as he found the lube Q had stashed in his desk drawer – the man was incorrigible – and slid into Q’s body.

Within a few minutes Bond was inside him, rocking them both against the messy desk. Q was panting, unable to speak or think of do anything other than just  _being_.

Afterwards, the pair sat together, Q sprawled across Bond’s lap.

"Well?" Bond asked, lacing their fingers together.

"Thank you," Q breathed, body coated in sweat. "…spanking though, a little old fashioned?"

That earned him a thoroughly deserved cuff around the head, before Bond’s lips found his once more.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello I was wondering if I could request for some shameless porn? I want Silva to kidnap Q, and to mock Bond, he sends Bond a recording of Silva fucking Q with a wine bottle, while drinking a glass of wine that was from the same bottle. Q gets unwillingly aroused and is humiliated about the whole thing. – anon
> 
> (PLEASE BEAR IN MIND THAT THIS IS EXTREMELY NON CONSENSUAL. VERY TRIGGER-HAPPY. BE CAREFUL PLEASE)

Bond was white, fists clenched so tightly the knuckles were almost forcing their way through the skin, jaw set in a thin line.

He and Q had been together for two years, give or take. In that time, Bond had understood what it was to truly love somebody, to the extent of wanting to give everything to a single human being, to never leave them or allow them to be hurt.

In this moment, Bond would given the earth to keep Q safe. To take his place, even. To do  _anything._

Q was trying to curl into himself, remaining vaguely stoic through sheer force of will, as a man Bond had believed dead moved his hand, and Q let out a short, choked sob.

There was nothing that needed to be said. MI6 had been contacted with the requisite demands, and Bond had been privately sent this little missive; a deliberate jibe, _knowing_  that Q and Bond were together, knowing that this was the most acute cruelty he could manage at short notice, with limited resources and a terrifying imagination.

It wasn’t even about Q.

It was about Bond, and M, and the rats in a barrel and the constant, increasingly desperate revenge of a man who wanted to die years ago, when he placed a gun against his and M’s head and waited for the trigger to be pulled, waited for his own pain to end in tandem with the woman who had caused.

Only, she was dead now, and the pain had never gone. The hunger for revenge had never quite been sated. It never could.

Bond had become the focus, and Silva drank a bottle of gorgeous red wine – vintage, expensive – and Q flushed red as his body was coaxed into a response it didn’t want to give, and Silva laughed softly and called his  _pretty boy_  and Q didn’t beg, didn’t scream, just clenched his eyes shut and tried to let his mind escape somewhere a very long way away.

MI6 would be there soon enough. They had confirmed Silva’s location, supposedly, and Bond actually doubted that Silva would try to run. He was out of the strength to run, these days. He just wanted to hurt others like he had been hurt, and so he did, and smiled at Bond sycophantically while his lover was raped with a goddamn  _bottle_  and Silva grew drunker and remained studiously unrepentant.

Q’s body shuddered, and Bond closed his eyes.

Gunshots echoed, MI6 burst in; Bond watched Silva shot repeatedly, Q trying to shrink out of view through utter humiliation, pain.

The Medical team swarmed, and somebody turned off the camera.

Bond sat, with his head in his hands, and started to shake.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do the HS au but like after the wonderful prom, with James’ friends treating Q like a kitten because that’s so cute, them having sex for the first time, and it’s Q’s first time and he doesn’t know what to do and feels like he’ll fail James for being bad at sex. And you don’t actually have to have them have sex but like that conversation and the fluff between them. Thanks for being so wonderful! – anon

There was a delicate type of anxiety that threaded Q’s body, an odd form of nervousness that he simply didn’t usually succumb to; it just never occurred to him to be nervous, or worried, there was no  _point_  at the end of the day in nervousness, it never did any actual good, and should be avoided or addressed ultimately because it was a  _pointless_  emotion and Q was quickly realising that logic was simply not going to magically make everything go away.

Fuck, but he wanted it to.

Bond kissed beautifully. Even after all the time they had spent together, Q had never quite gotten over the feeling of kissing  _James Bond_ ; it seemed unreal, something restricted to people unlike himself. He wasn’t allowed to be this lucky.

Q sank into him, his touch, his  _everything_. Bond seemed to know exactly what to do, how to make everything work, how to make Q’s entire  _body_  come alive, and it seemed that doing the same in return was unbelievably difficult.

Not for want of trying, however.

They fell into Bond’s bed, kissing with a passion that went somehow beyond much they had done previously; they had come pretty close before, but one or the other had withdrawn slightly, very aware of not forcing pressure. James was particularly adamant about that, ensuring Q was never feeling like he  _had_  to do anything.

Which led to Bond asking, pulling back from Q – and making Q whine slightly – whether he was alright, whether or not this was definitely what Q wanted.

It was definitely what he wanted.

The problem was in not really knowing what to do, how to do it, how not to come across like a complete moron and thus risk losing the single best thing that had ever happened in his life to date.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said instead, very simply, and prayed that James would understand everything he meant by that statement. “I’ve not…”

James smiled, with almost relieved understanding. “Q, nor have I,” he replied, with an encouraging smile. “Not with a man and – more importantly – not with  _you_.”

It was such a wonderful, romantic,  _ridiculous_  statement.

Q had never felt so in love in his entire life.

“But…”

“We’ll work it out,” he soothed, gentle, dropping kisses on Q’s pulse points. “I’m sure it can’t be all  _that_  complicated…”


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weird request…I just watched Bright Star and fell in love with Ben Whishaw wearing a vest. I’d like to request Bond walking into Q branch one day to find that Q is wearing a vest instead of one of his usual cardigans. It’s very attractive on Q’s slim frame and Bond finds it sexy as hell. I’d like some NSFW, but anything you guys write is fantastic, so I am not picky at all~ - anon

Bond just raised an eyebrow, and felt his mouth go dry.

Q looked  _impossible_.

It was ridiculous. Just ridiculous. And something he should have been wearing  _every single day_ , rather than just once in a while, because  _fuck_ , but he looked incredible.

It took less than a minute to have Q pinned to his desk, door locked, kissing him a terrifyingly ferocious passion and Q all but snorting against his mouth, evidently enjoying the response greatly. “Well, that was popular.”

“Less talk,” Bond growled, and worked his way over Q’s body, nipping, sucking, Q letting out low moans occasionally as Bond all but worshipped him, skimming hands over his torso in quiet disbelief.

A few minutes later found Bond on his knees, Q’s trousers around his ankles, vest still very much on and Bond’s mouth playing very clever tricks over his cock; Q whined in utter want, hips bucking, Bond really working damn hard. Q’s mind was half-imploding, Bond stroking himself while his other hand played along the crease of Q’s arse, perineum, pressing gently and causing a strangled curse.

It took a worryingly short time for Q to come; he all but collapsed onto Bond, knees weak, still shivering with aftershocks as he uncoordinatedly helped Bond towards his own climax, slim fingers curled around him while Bond’s hands continued to range over Q’s body, running through his hair, holding him mercilessly close and kissing him a terrifying passion, intense and unstoppable.

Q returned it all with his own force, hands moving in curling, long strokes, not quite _enough_ , teasing and unfairly sensual, everything Bond wanted but with insufficient _anything_  to actually make him come.

Finally,  _finally_ , Q took pity.

Bond yelled – Q hoped rather hard his soundproofing would hold – and both wound up in a sweaty heap in the middle of his office, panting harshly, bodies curled around one another, Bond’s shirt sticking to him slightly and Q’s vest a little bit spattered.

They looked at it together, and laughed, kissing again with far less force, just a gentle happiness that was quite enough, more than enough.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have an odd nsfw one. Q’s afraid to give blowjobs. He’s had inconsiderate lovers in the past that held him down, were impatient and called him all sorts of things that Q didn’t find arousing at all. James makes him feel wonderful when he gives Q one and Q wants to reciprocate but he’s afraid James will turn out like the others. With no pressure from James, Q finds him to be the exact opposite of what he feared. – anon

Q had no idea what to do when  _James Bond_  wound up generally kissing down his body, arrived at his groin, winked lasciviously, and abruptly took Q’s cock into his mouth.

A startled noise, and Q felt a small surge of panic.

Nobody had ever really given him a blowjob before. His previous experiences had been limited to the unpleasant or the mildly abusive, and he had no idea how to respond to Bond’s simply being there, and apparently  _enjoying_  the way he could make Q all but implode. It was obscenely good.

When Q had come – with a loud shout, and Bond all but sucking him dry, and Q blushing ferociously – Bond had wiped his mouth delicately, had a few gulps of water, and lain next to his lover. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “You didn’t seem…”

“I’ve not really…” Q managed, hand waving slightly. “I never really got the hang of them, and I… well, when I couldn’t do it right nobody really wanted to do it for me, and it’s just… it’s become a bit of a weird concept and that was, that was  _incredible_ , and I just…”

Bond hushed him with a kiss. A soft, gentle brush of lips. “Q,” he said lightly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you’re not comfortable…”

“But I  _want to_ ,” Q managed, voice a little bit strained. “I just… they were bloody nasty about it. I don’t want to disappoint you, and I’m…”

“I’m not them,” Bond assured him gently. “Honestly? It’s different with everybody. There’s no right or wrong way. If you want to, then try it – if you don’t, that’s okay too. Christ, Q, I’m lucky enough to have you in my bed without wanting a perfect blowjob out of it. Do what you  _want to_.”

Q looked utterly speechless for a moment, in a way that made Bond both sympathetic and homicidal in one easy step. “If it’s horrible, you  _tell me_ , yes?”

Bond couldn’t help a small smile. “Deal,” he assured Q, and kissed him again, long and languid, drawing out all he could from the young man, worshipping his body with delectable softness.

Of course, Bond was still hard; Q’s hand snaked down, closed around him gently, teasingly.

Bond let out a low groan, hips bucking slightly without intention, trying to get more; Q smiled slightly. He loved seeing Bond like this, filled with want, blue eyes clouded with nothing of the edge everybody was used to. This was  _his_  Bond. Not double-oh seven. His James Bond, and he was  _beautiful_.

Q flicked his tongue over the tip, and took Bond into his mouth.

Bond let out a deep, throaty groan, and swore; Q leant in, tongue working over the sensitive skin, slowing teasing out the most responsive areas. He had never been able to deep-throat effectively, probably never would, and compensated as best he could with trailing fingers, playing over Bond’s balls, darting along the perineum and pressing slightly, teasing  _there Q, fuck, do that again_  and it was enjoyable, honestly, to feel Bond’s response, to see his genuine enjoyment and coax it out of him, play him to the point where he was all but shouting Q’s name, fingers soft against his hair, checking he was alright, Q sucking a little more sharply in response with hollowed cheeks and Bond tightening, Q ducking back to avoid choking on ejaculate and wringing out every shade of an orgasm from Bond’s mouth with deft hands.

Bond lay there for a while, and just panted.

“Anybody,” he managed eventually, “who thinks you’re bad at that… is so wrong… it’s actually frightening how wrong… Christ, Q. Thank you.”

“Thank  _you_ ,” Q murmured, with a contented smile, moving to snuggle into Bond’s arms, intending to stay for the rest of the foreseeable future.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack prompt. Bond walks in on a Q branch orgy. Whatever happens afterwards is your choice. – anon

Bond was literally terrified, and was relatively certain what was happening between R and one of the younger minions (Mark, if Bond recalled correctly), was illegal in a number of different countries.

It was too much to deal with.

Especially when he realised that Q was right in the middle of it.

Every single member of Q-branch was in some way involved. Everybody was kissing or licking or touching or fucking absolutely everybody else, and Bond just gaped, somewhat enjoying the view but acutely aware that clothes were piled around the edges like some sort of circus ring, and there screens bearing flickering candles, and sensuous music playing, and this,  _this_  was why nobody went into Q-branch after dark.

Q-branch noticed him as a whole.

They didn’t seem overly perturbed.

Q let out a low, moaning type of cry, reaching out for Bond; he raised an eyebrow, somewhat perturbed by his lover being in the middle of a type of orgy, if he was quite honest with himself. True, Q had watched Bond do the same a few weeks previously on a mission that didn’t  _quite_  require it, but they were in something of an open relationship, and they hadn’t really established parameters yet.

To be fair, Bond really hadn’t seen it coming.

The minions descended.

Bond had not expected it, and was also unwilling to fight off a load of skinny sun-deprived teenagers, which left him totally pliable as he was pulled into the centre of the ring.

Q kissed him deeply, drawing out everything from him, hands ranging over Bond’s body as other hands moved in tandem, a type of bizarre undressing ritual while Bond’s own hands explored Q’s very,  _very_  naked body.

Fuck, this was weird.

Bond was down to underwear in less than seventy seconds, completely nude in ninety seconds, and achingly hard in about ten.

It had to be said, they were all  _gorgeous_.

Somebody’s mouth closed around his cock.

Bond’s knees very nearly buckled, held up by another minion who was grazing tongue and teeth over the nape of his neck, Q’s own mouth busy exploring Bond’s, hands playing over broad muscle and abdomen and nipples, and somebody’s fingers over his arse, and Q was whining as somebody did something to  _him_ , and Bond was doing something else but he had  _no idea_  what any more and really it didn’t matter because the entire world was inches from imploding…

Alarms blared.

Everybody in Q-branch stopped.

The lights all went on.

In moments, everybody had retrieved their clothing. Everybody had stopped. Men wilted and women dried. Shirts were thrown on, trousers stepped into, fingers already flying on keyboards as Q – minus shirt, with cardigan, no shoes and unbuttoned trousers – walked to his desk, retrieved his glasses, and started reading the incoming screen.

Bond was left in the middle of Q-branch, in the bright lights, completely naked and painfully aroused.

Q just looked at him, rolled his eyes, and smirked.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q having sex, Q tied up and whimpering, and Bond starts taking pictures of him like that – anon

Q’s cock strained painfully, hips moving in abortive little motions, desperate for touch, keening for Bond who had already fucked him once, had come whispering filthy words in Q’s ear, and then left him to wail and whimper with a cock ring carefully circling his base.

It had been only a few minutes, and Q had started  _pleading_.

Bond whispered, breathed against his ear, tongue trailing hotly along the sharp edge of his jaw, along his throat, sucking livid marks into the side of his neck and kissing him so hard Q was left panting, body straining upwards, back arching elegantly as he tried to find some leverage,  _some way_  of coming.

The begging was gorgeous _pleaseJamesohmygodpleasesirI’lldoanythingpleasefuckfuckplease_  and Bond couldn’t help but revel in it, to run the edge of a nail along the strain of Q’s length and hear the high-pitched keen it provoked.

It was irresistible. Bond never wanted to forget a single facet of this moment.

The camera blinked, and Q gaped. “You’re  _not_ …”

“Just for me,” Bond soothed, gently running the tip of a finger over Q’s slit and watching his lips curve into an  _oh_ , a soft call of need, hands still bound tightly over his head, legs spread wide; Bond had reattached his ankles after fucking him, leaving him wide, letting Bond play with the thin point of a vibrator that curved to rock against Q’s prostate.

Given the way Q had responded to that, Bond honestly wondered if it would even be _safe_  to stimulate him like that. He had practically screamed with need.

It was a truly  _gorgeous_ sound.

Now Q was just whimpered wordlessly, straining, skin damp with sweat, in tears of frustration, pink high on his cheekbones and in blotches across his body, begging when he could find words  _pleaseJamespleaseohfuckfuckJamesplease_  and Bond captured everything of it he could, just so he could always remember, so he could feel himself harden against just at the thought of Q writhing for him like that.

Bond’s body slid over Q’s, and he fell back to the quiet whimpers again, feeling Bond hard against his thigh. “You’re doing so well,” Bond told him, kissing him gently, licking tears away. “Nearly there. You’re so beautiful, Q,  _fuck_.”

A hand slid to his own cock, and he started to slowly squeeze himself, body poised over Q’s, and Q looked utterly  _devastated_  at the thought of Bond being able to come again while he was left  _still_  wanting, and would have sworn at him for being a total bastard and  _whythefuckwhyyouabsolute…_  only last time he’d tried that, about ten minutes previously, Bond had turned on the vibrator again until Q was completely incoherent and  _really_ , he didn’t see many options but to return to his frantic pleading again and hope Bond would show mercy, while he breathed hotly in Q’s ear and watched him writhe, and turned on the vibrator.

The reaction was enough to drive Bond into one of the most intense orgasms he could remember feeling, while Q’s body buckled against him, beneath him, mouth open in a silent cry.

Q couldn’t even form sound, lips framing  _pleasepleaseplease_  over and over again, and sharp green eyes met Bond’s in the most wide-eyed and completely guileless expression of need, Q having given everything of himself into Bond’s hands, entrusting everything of him, mind, body, soul to a single other person, and that was  _this_ , this was the physical embodiment of all of it, and Bond pushed him to the brink of what Q thought he could cope with (and then some) because he knew Q well enough to know he wanted it, he needed it, even if he couldn’t voice it.

Q’s eyes.

Bond removed the cock ring and kissed Q deeply almost at the same time, hand closing around Q and teasing him over the edge in the space of seconds; Q came with a garbled scream, Bond pulling away to allow the sound full voice, echoing as he came with blinding force, and Bond peppered kisses across his front and milked out everything from him until Q collapsed, absolutely boneless.

Arms unclasped from their bonds, Q’s fragile and exhausted form pulled close, Bond reaching for tissues after a moment just to clean off the worst of it while Q remained safe in his arms, breathing harshly, nuzzling wordlessly into Bond’s chest with eyes closed, hands in little fists against Bond’s front, letting the older man twine arms around him, and rock him very slightly, kissing his damp hair gently and letting the hummingbird heartbeat return, gradually, to the steady drumming Bond knew better than his own.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is always very quiet in bed. No matter how good James is or what he does, Q never gets louder than a quiet whimper. At first it irritates James, and he wants to hear Q screaming and moaning, but after talking to Q about it, he learns it’s not necessarily a bad thing, and he learns to listen and appreciate all of the little things Q does in bed, like the way his breath stutters, his muscles can’t decide whether to tense or relax, and how he whispers James’ name. Lots of fluff and NSFW. Thanks! – andshewasachild

Bond felt Q’s body writhe, contracting in and out in a strange series, a keening noise trickling from his lips as his hips stuttered forward and back insistently, and the boy fell back into his arms and panted, lips brushing Bond’s skin and nuzzling into him, wordless gratitude and exhausted bliss.

It was a delightful sight. Bond would never argue the converse.

The only  _bloody_  thing was that Q seemed  _incapable_  of managing more than a vague _whimper_ , regardless of how good Bond made it or how hard he tried.

Bond valued himself on pragmatism: “You’re very quiet in bed.”

Q blinked at him, looking something like confused. “I know,” he replied simply. “Why?”

There was a mute impasse, before the penny visibly dropped. Q’s expression tweaked, very slightly, and Bond managed to speak just before he did: “I feel I’m not giving you enough,” Bond said simply.

Another moment of silence, before Q snorted. “Volume is the only major indicator of pleasure?” he asked rhetorically. “Superb. Nobody warned me. James, I like you a lot, and you are  _stellar_  in bed, but I can’t do the shouting-thing. It’s weird. I find it actively weird. Can’t do it. Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a  _disappointment_ ,” Bond contradicted, relatively quickly. “I just don’t know whether you’re happy or not. I can’t read you.”

Q smiled slightly, infectiously. “James, I’m happy,” he said, very honestly. “Just… I can’t do the noise thing. But… I don’t know. Try it. See what it’s like from my side. Quiet. Taking in everything. I don’t express it loudly, but I express… I have my quirks. Everything else speaks.”

It was irresistible.

Bond practically threw him halfway across the room, a growl caught in his throat, kissing Q with enough force to bruise; Q’s body shuttered and melted in odd succession, trying to bring in everything of Bond and fight and  _be_ , mouth sliding open for a soft catch of a gasp, breath suspending in a moment of utter slowness as his limbs trickled in and around, tempering the sheer  _force_  of a being like James Bond and keeping it for his own.

Abruptly, Bond understood why it could be truly  _gorgeous_ , to keep that silence. To keep the quiet cloaking them both. Bond let himself fall into absolute quiet, no superfluous words, nothing to tempt the ego or excuse missteps. The pair just  _were_ , and Q breathed in snatched and longer convulsions, and whimpered very faintly as pressure increased, as Bond’s tongue flicked over him, and as Bond lined himself up and waited, a promise, silent anticipation, Q’s eyes flashed a desperate bottle-green and his lips framed Bond’s name again and again, no sound, just a breathless and agonising mantra as Bond’s hips slid forward, in, and keening frantically as pace increased and hands moved, Q’s mouth inches from Bond’s ear, the almost inaudible ellipsis against the catches of breath.

It was  _gorgeous_.

Bond pushed, slid; Q stopped.

Utter,  _true_  silence. Body a taught line, ruler-straight eyes wide and lips parted.

A  _gasp_.

_James_.

Bond’s lips on his, and nothing.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UGH after all that Bond/Q/Alec angst, how about some nice, smutty OT3 action? Maybe Q in the middle of his first threeway and the 00s pampering and loving on him? – theanimecharacterreview

Despite the massage, the low lighting, the nice food and general atmosphere, there was no getting away from the fact that there were two large, well endowed men pressed either side of him. Beautiful, sensuous and powerful creatures, men that Q wanted more than anything. But fucking  _hell_  it was a little terrifying.

Alec was behind him, lavishing attention on his back and neck, kissing and massaging the tight muscles. Bond meanwhile occupied his mouth, body pressed against Q’s lean frame.

"Are you…?" Bond pulled back, looking at Q’s nervous expression.

Q nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"You ever done this before?" Alec asked, arms around Q’s waist.

Q swallowed. “No,” he admitted as Bond raised a hand, stroking his face.

Bond kissed him gently. “You don’t have to do anything,” he reiterated, as Alec nipped at his earlobe, and Q shivered out a breath. “If you want us to stop, we can stop.”

Q let out a short whimper. “No,” he murmured. “I want to, I just… don’t know how, I don’t…”

"Now that we can help with," Alec told him, chuckling softly as his hands reached down stroking him lightly.

"There aren’t rules," Bond commented as Q gasped, rutting into Alec’s hand as he felt fingers wrap around his cock. "God you’re beautiful."

Alec’s mouth sucked a mark into his throat, a darkening, and Q whimpered frantically; Bond’s own mouth trailed over Q’s front, his chest, flicking over his nipples lightly and Q just moaned outright.

Over his head, Bond and Alec grinned, pupils half-blown with lust, kissing one another briefly before returning attention to Q. They knew one another so well, could target everything if they wished: this was about Q, just Q, and they were prepared to give all they had for him.

Hands, fingers, bodies, and Q exhaled in a long rush and kissed with force enough to bruise, and it was  _perfect_.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m nervous as a bunny in a fox den right now as I’ve got my drivers theory exam tomorrow morning (through a second language, just to make it worse) and would love some inspiring rough nsfw 00Q, where Q is the aggressor. I just love you two so much, and this is the first place I go every day when I open my computer, just for a smile or a cry. Xxx – optimisticstorm

Q’s fingers with lithe, gorgeously strong, easily able to press Bond into the mattress and hold him there with such wonderful force; Bond could defeat most people in the space of seconds, but with Q, there was a sense of the deliciously unexpected.

When Bond fought back, Q’s fingers had danced handcuffs over his wrists.

Dominance is not simply physical strength. The balance of force and reception is clever, tentative; Bond was stronger than most Q would ever need to come across, but god  _damn it_ , Q was  _clever_.

He could pre-empt Bond’s motions. In a physical fight, he would be eaten alive, but he could always deflect; the consummate magician, and Bond adored it. Adored being outthought and his brain pushed into a new headspace, where Q could easily dart around his usual trickery.

Bond breathed into Q’s kiss, body relaxing in a feint that caused Q’s eyebrow to quirk upwards. “Not subtle,” Q warned, with a faint smile.

In a single moment, Q’s hand was around Bond’s cock, lips over his throat, edges of teeth and nails digging into sensitive skin, other hand scaling down the bumps of ribs. “Still,” he murmured, and simply waited.

Bond’s body relaxed by increments, further and further, away from a feint and into something more genuine; Q smiled, nodded his approval, fingers trickling towards the cleft of his arse. “Relax,” Q coaxed, kissing Bond repeatedly, insistently, lube cold against Bond’s skin as his young Quartermaster pressed gently, a little more, Bond letting out a quiet noise.

Q adored Bond like this; he let his guard down, inch by inch, and Q slid in through the cracks and watched him slide apart, flooded him with sense and let him  _be_. “I’ve got you,” Q murmured in his ear, teeth grazing along the shell, watching Bond fight and feint and fall.

The single truism of James Bond: never offline. He was constantly on alert, mind spinning out into realms of cameras and intrusions, gun never out of reach; the moment Q immobilised him, his trust was placed in Q to keep them  _both_  safe.

It was difficult.

Bond could not  _try_  to trust.

No: Q  _made_  him trust. Placed him in a position where there was absolutely no option _but_  to trust.

Bond’s body was arching, tension bleeding in and out of him, and Q slowly pushed into him.

All was quiet for a moment.

Breath. Heartbeat.

Q shifted. Bond let out a low cry.

A glance, a nod. All well.

Another shift, a thrust, movement, faster, faster,  _fuck_ , more and more, everything, _fuck please_ , words and breath and heat and sound, Bond yelling and Q all but silent, fast and sharp, hissing and panting and  _pleading_  and Q’s nails dug in to bruising point and Bond was vocal and yelling out to a black night while Q gave him everything he could need, everything he could want.

“I’ve got you,” Q murmured, as they rode out the edges of orgasm, bodies sheltered in one another.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I possibly have a prompt where James is secretly a submissive after a mission and really needs someone to take control away from him an force him to submit? – madwriterscorner

Q smiled very slightly to himself, looking up from his computer as he heard the approach. Bond was always quite specific, a thundering rumble through his otherwise clicking and quiet branch, and Q didn’t need to speak to confirm; sure enough, his partner took less than a minute to press through the doors.

Q locked them behind him, giving them a moment to simply watch one another, for Q to establish how to play the field.

Bond looked a mess, just out of medical. His wrist was in a support and his face bore new bruising. He whirled around, approaching with honest force, staring down at the young Quartermaster. Q barely blinked, the pair remaining either side of the desk, squaring off.

"Kneel." Q told him, the word ringing around the soundproofed office, an understated and incontrovertible force of nature.

Bond laughed, eyes still wild as his fingers tightened on the desk.

"I will not ask you again." Q stated, drawing himself to his full height.

Bond’s breathing slowed, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Q’s eyes narrowed; reaching to his desk he drew a slim weapon. His own design: it wouldn’t kill, but it gave a decent enough hit of electricity.

Q raised it, and Bond’s eyes followed, silent and wary.

It was enough.

Bond sank down, head bowed. Q gave himself a moment, before walking around the desk and standing above him.

"Well?"

"I’m sorry sir." Bond told him, staring at Q’s shoes.

"For?" Q asked, the weapon still held.

"Behaving inappropriately, sir," Bond replied quietly, closing his eyes briefly as he felt the tip of it against his head. “ _Q_.”

Q slid it under Bond’s chin, lifting it up, letting their eyes fix in and on the other. “Do you intend to behave yourself, James?” he asked softly, gun hitting his nape, pushing him closer. “This can go a number of ways.”

Bond’s smile was intentionally obnoxious. “I’m sure,” he drawled.

Q pistol whipped him.

The force was actually unexpected; Bond’s eyes widened for a moment in genuine shock, body rippling with the need to fight, before the ice in Q’s expression stopped him dead.

Oh, he was  _beautiful_  like this. “Good,” Q murmured, as the fight died back a fraction. “Better. Now, Mr Bond. Let’s begin.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I request (As I never see them,) A 00Mallory, with smut in the Aston? Love your writing, by the way! – cantwalkintheshadows

“Oh god, that’s beautiful.”

Both men stood in slight awe at the creature before them.

"I know.”

"I mean really James, that’s…"

"I know."

They both stared, mute, and pretended to not be terrifyingly aroused.

It took about five minutes for the pair to end up on the back seat.

"This real leather?" M asked, sprawled as Bond rutted against him.

"Naturally."

Men of few words. Part of the reason the pair got along.

There was a pause, blue eyes meeting Mallory’s own. It was fucking cold outside, the windows steaming up a la Titanic. Breath steamed out of their mouths, panting, aroused.

"On your knees, 007," M smirked, quirking an eyebrow.

"My car," Bond pointed out.

"Then you know how clean the mats are. Knees."

"I don’t know how small you think I fold up M, but really, there is barely leg room for me there let alone…" Bond trailed off, as Mallory considered the issue. They ended up lying backwards, Bond shifted awkwardly to wrap his lips around his boss’s cock, bobbing up and down with practiced ease. One hand gripped his own erection, toying with himself as he licked and swallowed.

"Don’t you dare get cum on my seats," he pointed out, pulling away for a moment.

"Best down it all then," Mallory replied. "Unless of course, the mighty James Bond does not swallow?"

"It hasn’t come up that often," Bond told him, but sank back down, feeling Mallory’s hand in his cropped hair, guiding him.

Mallory came first, and true to his word, not a drop was spilled on the precious seats. Bond leaned back, pumping himself vigorously as M recovered, wiping his forehead. Seeing his chance, Bond moved forward, grasping a handful of his boss’s shirt, cumming into the expensive fabric. Mallory looked down, shocked at the man’s behaviour.

"Well, I wasn’t going to get it on the leather now, was I?" Bond pointed out lazily.

M glared. Paused.

Considered the matter.

Nodded.

"Fair point".


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel awkward prompting this but you’re brilliant with this sort of thing. 00Q (or JAQ if you wish) skin tight leather gloves, territorial, body worship. And any extra kinks if you want (oh gosh, hurries away and hides). – anon

Q rarely drove, quite honestly; for a gadget fiend, who prided himself in kitting out Bond’s cars to the best of his abilities, it seemed surprising. Bond would have rather uncharitably assumed the man couldn’t, were it not for the gloves.

Skin tight, beautiful leather gloves; Q’s hands were the most expressive parts of him barring his eyes themselves, and oh god, they were perfect when encased in something fragile but durable, Q himself, hot skin and cool leather, and the concept was enough to make him feel somewhat breathless.

"You could always just…  _ask_ , you know,” Q said, snapping Bond out of his fantasy.

Bond blinked, honestly rather lost for a moment. “What?”

Q’s expression had wrought itself into something delightfully amused. “007, you have been drooling over my hands for the past three weeks.”

"I don’t know what you mean.”

Q simply raised an eyebrow, and reached for his gloves.

There was something bizarrely erotic about simply watching them go on. Pale skin turned black. Leather creaking very faintly in the quiet of Bond’s harsh breathing.

“You only have to ask,” Q told him, utter simplicity.

Bond was still speechless, even as Q remotely locked the doors, and leant back in his chair with fingers lacing together.

"Ah, now there’s the question…" Q teased, slow and careful. "What is it you want. Bond?"

"Just…” Bond considered for a moment whether it was A Good Idea, and then essentially decided that  _sod it_ , life was too short. “Touch me. Please.”

Q stood eloquently, entirely calm in a way that made Bond’s entire body tingle. “Strip and lie down,” Q told him.

Bond was achingly hard, a little confused, and still vaguely contemplating the Good Ideaness of the venture.

"I’m waiting 007."

"Yes sir," Bond managed – noting Q’s slight shiver at the title – before stripping quickly, and lying down across Q’s desk.

Q smiled appreciatively, hands hovering just above Bond’s abdomen, so close, no seeping warmth to permeate skin, just the threat, the promise.

The brush of cold against warmth against heat, and Q pressed and explored, texturing touch in unexpected patterns, testing and sensing and learning, skimming along inner thighs and dancing over his erection for the briefest of moments, leaning in, lips promising quietly and they were  _warm_ , and the change was startling and impossible, and Bond was unspooling with terrifying ease.

“ _Sir_ ,” he hissed, pleaded, as Q’s touches became almost too much, as lips closed on a nub of nipple and his tongue worked in hot parallel stripes, and everything in Bond’s world started spinning. “Sir,  _please_.”

Q couldn’t quite resist, and his hand closed over Bond’s cock, the texture so  _bizarre_ against him and not unwelcome, and Q’s kisses and breath and startling heat, the heat of  _him_ , and the control, the honesty of leather and skin and Bond couldn’t think. “Q, I’m going to…”

There was no way in hell Q was going to let his gloves get damaged.

In the fastest move Bond had ever witnessed, he whipped his hand away, and without a missing a beat in the rhythm closed his lips over Bond’s cock.

Bond came with a startled and shocked and intense shout, eyes wide, entire body arcing as Q actually bloody  _stayed there_.

Q drew back, took a sip of water.

Bond remained in a dizzy afterglow for a couple of minutes.

“Bond, I will need my desk back,” Q commented absentmindedly. “I am also expecting you to pick me up for dinner at eight this evening.”

Moving was tricky, but the reply was not: “Yes, sir.”


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dying for some fluff after a crappy week, so here’s 00q prompt for you fantastically talented writers! Q and Bond are in a D/S relationship (sub!Q) and Bond goes majorly overboard on the aftercare since Q’s been in some pretty crappy relationships before with people who didn’t really care for him properly. Fluff and maybe some sexy times would be greatly appreciated ;) – anon

Q lay, legs spread and chest heaving as his lover toyed with him, stroking torturous strokes up and down his pressing erection. Pale wrists strained against the leather cuffs as Q panted pleas.

"Please sir, oh god  _please_ ,” he begged, Bond chuckling as Q bucked into his hand, and whimpered frantically.

"And why should I?" Bond asked, laying back and watching as Q melted. "You’ve had your use, I could just leave you here like this all night…"

Q’s eyes fluttered, trying to ignore the vibrator inside him. “No,  _no_ , you  _can’t_ …”

Bond raised an eyebrow, trying to calculate just how far he could push Q before the boy had a minor breakdown. “No? You forget yourself,” Bond told Q, reaching for the control and turning the vibe down a fraction, not quite enough, nowhere near enough.

“I’m sorry,  _please_ …”

Bond’s fingers remained over the remote, tantalising, promising. “And if I want to leave you?” he asked, soft rhetoric.

"Then I deserve it sir," Q managed, almost sobbing with need.

"Because…?"

"I’m yours, you can do as you want with me, I, I… sir!”

Bond turned up the remote, and in one motion, all but swallowed Q’s cock; the younger man let out a truly spectacular wail, sobbing as his hips bucked despite himself, entire body shuddering  _pleasepleasepleaseletme_ …

"Go," Bond told him, pulling away to watch as Q came, half-sobbing and managing hysterical thanks, sobbing out Bond’s name and shaking with aftershocks.

Bond deftly released him from his restraints and turned off the vibrator, quickly bundling his lover into his arms while he whined and tried to work out how to think again, making small noises under his breath.

"I’ve got you," Bond murmured, rocking him slightly as Q came down. "Shh, shh, I’m here, Q, I’m here, you did amazingly well, I’m so proud…"

Q nuzzled unapologetically into Bond’s chest, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, heartbeat still juddering and mind slowly starting to become a little clearer but mostly just sitting in the chaos of aftershock.

"You’re incredible…" Bond was saying as Q breathed him in, allowing himself to relax; Bond took the opportunity to gently extricate the vibrator from Q’s body, the younger man making a soft noise of discomfort. "All done, it’s all done. It’s alright, Q. My beautiful Q. Are you alright?”

Q nodded wordlessly, fingers curling around Bond’s arm, anchoring himself. He let himself go with James as he had done with none of the others, and this,  _this_  was part of the reason: Bond held onto him until lucidity had filtered back, remained his protector and his anchor. He let go of the world, and Bond held onto him until he regained his foothold.

He was safe, and Bond would keep him so until the end of everything.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would love to read a pony play fic where Q is the pony + Bond is the trainer. I know it’s a kink that not everybody’s into but you are my last hope + I will crown you Ruler of the Universe if you are able to write it. – anon

Q moaned, teeth firmly around the thin bar of metal in his mouth. Arse presented high in the air, Bond’s slick fingers working in and out of him.

"Good boy…" Bond petted, kissing the side of Q’s arse fondly. "Such a good boy."

Q didn’t reply, this was one of the few kinks he had so rarely allowed himself. Never truly indulged. Then, of course, Bond  _had_  to reveal he had grown up in the country, with full horse riding experience; one drunken evening later, and this had all come out.

"I think you’re ready," Bond told him, reaching for the thick plug. Q nodded eagerly as he pressed backwards onto the lubed toy.

Bond, in full riding gear, trousers beautifully tight and a riding crop well within reach. Were it not for the cock ring Q would have come long before on that sight alone. He felt the tip of the plug against him, thick head stretching wonderfully. James had prepared him well, open and almost dripping with lubricant, the toy sliding into him slowly.

"Good boy," Bond repeated, watching hungrily as the plug vanished into his lover’s arse. The plug itself was fairly standard, but for the long, dark tail that was attached to the base.

Finally, with a moan, Q’s body took the toy fully. He shuddered with delight, at the sheer feeling off fullness. Bond sat back to admire him, allowing one hand to toy with Q’s dark hair, stroking him.

His fingers caught in a tangle, Q hissed, pulling his hand away. Bond took up the crop, smacking it once lightly across Q’s backside. He gasped around the gag, the action sending waves of pleasure as the toy shifted within him. Bond noticed, repeating the gesture, allowing a thin red line to form across perfectly pale cheeks.

"You see, I have never had such a problem with my hair," Bond chuckled, placing the crop down, much to Q’s dismay. "I would suggest shaving it all off, but I would hate to lose such a beautiful mane…"

Q nodded, moving his head up towards Bond’s hand again.

"I best just brush it out then, hadn’t I?" Bond asked, picking up a brush and starting at the base of Q’s tail. The man moaned, each movement of the brush dragging the toy within him, grazing his prostate in a beautifully deliberate gesture.

Bond was fastidious, combing out ever knot until Q was all but writhing with pleasure, head thrown back as he groaned, nuzzling into Bond’s hand, revelling in something he had never imagined he would truly be able to feel.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls, I adore you. For the writing, the hope and the strength and support. May I leave a prompt? 00Q nsfw please, with a heavy scent and most importantly arm pit kink. Like Bond is sniffing/licking Q’s or vice versa. If you like to make this omega or anything, fine with me too. But pure is gold as well :) Thank you. All the best for you! – anon

Q nuzzled in, breathing in Bond’s must, the sweat and tang of blood, the edged promises of rush and metal and fire, smoke lingering on the surface, to feel his body pressed and to be smothered.

When all else vanished, Q would always have the promise, the memory, the shadows of Bond’s scent.

Bond documented every part of Q’s body meticulously, he always had. Q felt stripped in a sense far more profound than clothing: he was taken, he was explored, from his hair to skin to the flecks of colour in his irises, and Bond could dismantle him to find the different component parts, molecules of scent.

Not just the externals. Earl Grey and cigarettes and chrome; that wasn’t  _Q_.

Q was the warmth and heat, the mornings, the end of a day. The discarded clothing and the forgotten things, the imprints of him; Bond breathed in every part of him, nose probing his underarms, his groin, all places where scent could linger and grow and could never be quite removed.

“Tickles,” Q smirked, kissing Bond firmly, twining himself around Bond and snorting as Bond wasted no time drawing fingers through his hair, to the scalp, intense in a way that spoke of trying to get rid of the shampoo and the heaviness of  _other things_  and just leave whatever it was, the pheromones that had always held Bond in thrall.

No words. He growled against Q’s skin and felt the convulsions of his laughter, tasted the sweat, pinned Q’s arms up above his head in an easy motion – “James,  _James_ , let me go you ridiculous…” – and swallowed him in kisses, tongue trailing, Q smiling and watching with curious, almost bemused interest.

Bond’s hands released him, slid lower, and Q gasped as fingers closed over his cock. “ _Fuck_.”

“Language,” Bond chastised with a leonine grin, and started to stroke; he knew Q so well,  _this_  was why. He imprinted Q on every part of him, memory and taste and touch and Q was losing all sense because  _fuck fuck fuck don’t stop James please_  and he was extraordinary.

Q loved him more than he could think.

Bond smiled in a way that was all Q’s, and rent the air with Q’s peppered cries.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from sister, Q gets grounded and Bond has to keep him company. – anon

Q hated the world and absolutely everything in it,  _especially_  M and  _especially_  Bond, for both keeping him trapped in this godforsaken hellhole (which was, in fact, simply MI6) and deciding he needed a babysitter.

“Go. You don’t want to be here.”

Bond turned a page of his book placidly, and didn’t deign to respond. He had informed Q about every five minutes since the debacle had started that he was there because he wished to be, because isolation tended to do extremely bad things to Q’s psyche in a very short space of time.

“I hate you.”

“If you go outside, you might die,” Bond told him, with a little more edge. “I’d personally prefer for that not to happen, although it is – of course – your choice.”

Q grimaced slightly. “I  _hate_ …”

“I know,” Bond interjected.

He put down his book, leaned forward, glancing over Q. “What do you want to do?” he asked, firmly. “You’re bored, and you’re getting on my final nerve, so tell me what you want.”

Q was honest-to-god  _pouting_.

“Don’t know.”

Bond rolled his eyes, glared at his young lover. “Will sex cover it?” he asked, rather conversationally, and just about hid the smirk of amusement at Q’s rather enthusiastic nod. “Wonderful.”

Bond cleared the desk in two easy swoops, Q clambering on in a less than elegant way. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“I have been trapped in this place, with  _no decent tea_  for nearly two days. I need  _something_ ,” Q told him, grabbing Bond’s tie and kissing him. Bond couldn’t really argue.

They stayed like that for a solid five minutes, kissing and licking and  _biting_  at rapidly exposing flesh. Q’s cardigan and tie were on the floor, Bond’s jacket had swiftly followed them.

“Over the desk,” Bond grunted, Q almost falling over himself to comply. Bond reached down, tugging his trousers down just past his arse and watching with a rather predatory grin as Q did the same, standing, legs wide and waiting. “Oh no,” Bond shook his head, pulling Q’s legs closer together. “Something new.”

Q raised an eyebrow with amused interest and complied, biting his lip as his exposed cock rubbed against the edge of the desk.

Bond stood behind him, thrusting into the tight press of Q’s thighs.

“Oh  _god_ ,” Q moaned, feeling Bond’s cock drag on the underside of his balls, teasing him. “More,  _please_!”

Bond took himself in hand, rubbing along the line of Q’s arse, teasing him, thrusting against, building closer and closer. Finally he came, leaving Q achingly hard against the desk.

“Turn around,” Bond instructed, kneeling down as Q braced himself against the desk.

Q moaned as Bond began to blow him, taking him deep and massaging the tip with his tongue. Q lasted less than thirty seconds. Bond smirked, liking him clean, tasting both Q and himself on the man’s thighs.

“Well…” Q managed, barely coherent, “that’s one way to cure boredom.”


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Q, Bond didn’t know you could laugh through an orgasm. – anon

They had been together for a little over three weeks when they had first slept together. It had been a rather quieter affair than Bond was used to - they were both sober, just enjoying each other’s company and then it just… happened. Bond found himself with a very beautiful younger man between his thighs and everything was rather splendid.

It had been excellent; the pair had begun to settle into an almost routine. They were sarcastic and the banter at both work and home was excellent, but Bond had never imagined that could transfer to the bedroom.

"Getting slow James, really," Q commented, as Bond pressed his tongue further into the man’s arse.

"I don’t…" Bond began, before feeling Q’s hand in his hair.

Q’s fingers tightened a little, tugging hair with a spike of pain. “No speaking with mouth full,” he interrupted. “Really James, I thought you had better  _OH_ my god…”

Q was reduced to incoherency as Bond added a finger, and Bond chuckled, the vibrations warm against Q’s body.

"Slow, am I?" he asked, pressing the finger deeper into Q’s body.

Q took a breath, trying to regain composure. “Terminally”

"I suppose I can be…" Bond murmured, letting his finger still and teasing a line up Q’s erection; Q whimpered Bond’s name, bucking his hand onto Bond’s finger. "What? Give an old man a break.”

Beneath him, Q was wriggling endearingly as he tried to take more of Bond’s digit into his body. “I’ll certainly break something if you don’t bloody move!”

Bond grinned. “I’d  _love_  to watch you try,” Bond mocked, enjoying Q’s struggle.

"007…" Q threatened, as Bond finally gave in, pressing more into Q’s body. "God I  _hate_  you.”

"I know you do.”

Bond moved Q rather fluidly onto all fours and lubed himself up, fingers gently curving around his hips, no longer touching; Q whined rather inelegantly, arse gorgeously splayed in front of Bond’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re taking your  _bloody_  time,” Q retorted irately.

Out of sheer revenge, Bond slid his slick cock into Q’s body without true warning.

“Ohholy _fuck_.”

Bond took a moment for Q to adjust, before beginning to slide, quickly building a rhythm. “Better?” he asked, on a grunted exhale.

Q snorted,  _therefuckyes_  before finally managing: “Considerably, you irritating bastard.”

Bond was still laughing as his body flung him into one of the most surprising orgasms he could remember experiencing, Q following after him with a shout of triumph.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do awkward but fluffy first time sex with one of them ending up coming in their pants? – anon

Bond was just as nervous as Q, if not more so; he didn’t really know what to expect from the young man, who was quick and sharp and  _brilliant_  in a tangible way that made Bond’s heart beat in a curiously erratic way and blood rush everywhere at once.

Q was grinning as he kissed Bond, the excitement of a teenager with the impossible quickness of an adult with far too much power for his own good. Bond, meanwhile, had all strength and power and delectable smoothness, and Q was utterly entranced by the man if he was being completely honest.

They kissed with the a ferocity that was a little bit frightening, both tremendously overexcited and more or less groping; Q whined against Bond’s mouth, sending a spark of want directly downwards, Q grinning as he felt Bond’s erection pressing against him.

They tumbled into bed messily, Q hurriedly chucking his glasses to one side and returning to his merciless groping of every free inch of Bond’s body, hands running along the planes of his ribs, his torso, resting on his hips and cheekily darting to his arse.

Bond, in direct retaliation, shifted his hips upwards. Q let out a gasp as Bond started to grind against him,  _keening_  as he kept tormenting him, and with every single damned noise Bond found himself getting closer to absolute madness. Q appeared to have been put on the earth for the sole purpose of making his life hell.

_“Fuck_ ,” he mumbled in Q’s ear, as Q let out a sharp gasp, nipping on Bond’s earlobe and driving him wild in the process. “Fuck, Q, you’re gorgeous. Noisy, too.”

Q instantly stopped, blushing ferociously. “Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…”

Bond laughed slightly, devouring his mouth again an instant later. “I love it,” he purred against Q’s mouth, and he let out a light cry in response, Bond’s hand moving to frame his erection.

A heartbeat later, and Q was all but choking with want, and Bond could feel his body hurtling closer with every noise he made; Q was all but  _whimpering_ , eyes wide and beautiful and wanting.

Bond honestly felt his body respond in a way completely divorced from his mind.

Without the slightest chances of arresting it in the slightest, Bond found himself shouting out the single most surprising orgasm he’d ever encountered.

Q blinked.

Bond looked at him.

Both, in near enough unison, started to laugh.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a fic where bond and q fight and bond says “Shut up” and Q says “make me” and Bond blows him till he can’t form a coherent thought? *Throws chocolates and runs away! – anon

Q couldn’t do much more than let out a very startled yelp, as Bond dropped to his knees, and started tugging at Q’s belt. “Bond, what in the  _everloving_ …”

“I said,” Bond repeated, voice a low and throaty growl, “ _shut up_.”

Q wasn’t even vaguely aroused – mostly he was just rather startled – but Bond seemed rather adamant. In an instant, Q found Bond’s tongue drawing crazed circles over the skin of his cock, and Q found his balance pretty much leaving him.

Good god, Bond was extraordinary at giving head.

A whine later, and Q’s fingers had laced in Bond’s short hair, encouraging; a tongue laved over the underside, and finally, Bond took him fully into his mouth.

The man was never still. Cheeks hollowing out for a moment, tongue darting this way and that, fingers coming up to play with Q’s balls; he couldn’t  _breathe_ , sensation initiating with incredible speed and blotting out vision for the shortest of moments, returning and reinitiating, firing every part of his body in term.

“Holy…” Q attempted, before Bond’s tongue danced over his slit, and Q’s knees near enough collapsed from under him. “ _Hnngh_.”

Bond seemed ridiculously pleased with himself. Q had long-since given up on asking questions like _why_  or  _how_  or  _what did I do right I thought we were arguing_  and instead just let Bond completely tea him apart. He didn’t mind. He welcomed it.

All thoughts of a coherent nature waved a merry goodbye as Bond swallowed Q down all the way.

Instead, Q made a noise like a dying cat, and started keening frantically as orgasm hurtled towards him with the force of a train; it took only a handful more deft swipes before Q yelled out frantically, coming in sharp spurts that were protected from destroying the carpet simply through Bond’s ability to swallow neatly.

Bond rocked back on his heels, wiped his mouth delicately.

Q lost balance, and all but crashed to the floor.

“I told you to shut up,” Bond quipped drily, and snorted at the somewhat inelegant noise Q tried to make in response.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you two lift my soul with your writing, thank you so much! my prompt is hopefully very nsfw ;) 00q | bond wants so badly to talk dirty to q, though he’s worried he would scare the poor guy away. realising this, q is greatly amused, and manages to thoroughly shock bond with the filthiest mouth he’s ever heard. Mwahaha – anon

Q couldn’t really fail to notice; Bond valiantly attempted to be refined, but his mouth worked long before his brain could enter the picture, which tended to mean something along the lines of “you filthy li…” before the man trailed off into a sexually-charged growl and tried to pretend nothing had ever happened.

It took Q a little while to realise quite  _why_. Q had never been a wilting flower. Mid-twenties and sex drive of a rampant squirrel, there was fairly little even James bloody Bond could do to shock him; a dirty word or twelve (or hundred) would barely dent the surface.

“Come on then,” Q murmured in Bond’s ear one night, while Bond was kissing him, biting raised marks into the tender flesh of his throat. “Fuck me, James Bond. I need your cock in me, like the slut I am.”

Bond froze. Actually, honestly froze.

“I need your thick, hard cock,” Q whined, arching his back slightly, legs spreading out to expose his waiting interest. “Come on. Don’t just stare at me. Finger me open like you want to, I’m ready for you.”

For a little while, it seemed entirely possible that Q had just sent Bond into complete mental meltdown. He still wasn’t kissing Q any more – a fact Q found practically criminal – but instead gawping at him like an idiot. “What?!”

“You’re…” Bond managed, a little weakly. “I mean… fuck, Q, you’re  _filthy_.”

Q’s smile became broad, and utterly cocky. “Aren’t I  _just_ ,” he purred, bucking his hips slightly. “Seriously though, stop procrastinating, I’m horny and cannot express how much I need you to fuck me.”

“You really are a little whore, aren’t you?”

Q’s voice became a whine at the name, gasping out slightly: “ _Yes_. Your whore.”

“Desperate for my cock, are you?” Bond continued, fingers dancing towards his entrance, one finger pressing suggestively. “Is that enough for you, slut?”

“No,  _no_ , need more,” Q returned with hesitation, trying to get more, get Bond to push in, push deeper. “Need you inside me, need you stretching me wide…”

Bond honestly couldn’t quite believe his luck, nor quite how painfully hard he had become in a very short space of time; he slipped a finger inside, eliciting a strangled sound from his lover. “ _More_ , come on, I can take more, make me take more…”

Never one to refuse, Bond happily slid another finger in, scissoring carefully, making Q whine hysterically. “You’re  _filthy_ , Quartermaster.”

“I know,” Q replied happily. “Now  _keep going_.”


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sub!Q, Dom!Bond, spanking, vibrator(s), cock ring(s), orgasm denial, and maybe a little bit of crying. Please and thank you! :) – anon

The floorboards creaked under Q’s weight as he knelt, mouth inches from Bond’s cock. His head was bowed in submission, body quivering with anticipation; his lips were dry from want, so close, and  _yet_.

Q leant in, taking the head into his mouth with a small moan.

It was abruptly cut short by a hand in his hair, tugging him away. Q looked up, eyes wide in confusion as Bond raised an eyebrow. In these moments he could catch a glimpse of 007, the man who could kill in a heartbeat and chase across continents without a moment’s pause; powerful, beautiful, and more than a little terrifying.

“Sir?”

Bond glanced downwards, eyes black and murderous. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to touch me,” Bond told him silkily.

“No sir, I’m sorry sir,” Q replied quickly, falling over the words in apology.

“Sorry? Sorry for being such and unquenchable little whore that you couldn’t wait? That your slutty little mouth was so eager for me that you thought you would overstep your place?” Bond asked, filthy words so beautiful in Q’s ears.

“I’m sorry sir,” Q repeated, eyes down.

“Not good enough. Up,” Bond told him, “into position.”

Q nodded, moving onto all fours across Bond’s lap, trying not to allow the slight eager grin that crossed his face.

“Now, since you are such a little pain slut, I will be taking measures to ensure you do not come until I allow you,” Bond informed him, stroking Q’s half hard cock. He reached around into the drawer, pulling out a slim cock ring. Q nodded and bit his lips, as the ring was pressed down over him, tightening at the base and preventing true release.

Q was too distracted to notice Bond reach out again, this time for the plug that sat self-consciously on the table, along with the lube.

Q gasped as he felt the tip of the plug against his hole; he had been stretching earlier (much to Bond’s arousal) and the toy slid into him slowly, but with relative ease. Q moaned at the pleasurable stretch, muscles contracting in the joyous moment of feeling so beautifully  _filled_. Bond smirked at the reaction.

“Maintain position!” he barked, smacking a hand across Q’s bare arse.

Q gasped frantically, the shocks passing through the plug; Bond finally turned it on, and Q honestly thought he would scream.

It was wonderful, his mind exploding with pleasure, the ring keeping him from coming; a secondary smack only made matters worse, until Q was whining, almost _sobbing_  in ecstasy. “That’s right whore, fuck yourself on it,” Bond was purring as Q strained against his hand.

“Yes sir!” Q cried out.

“You need to learn a lesson about patience. Such an arrogant, presumptuous little whore…” Bond drawled. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please sir!” Q whined, Bond still spanking him, the burning moments of pain cutting through the vibrations beautifully – his whole body singing with want. “Oh god! Please, please sir let me come!”

“No,” Bond told him, pulling away and leaving Q to writhe on the bed. “Not before me. Oh god you look gorgeous like this Q, Jesus…” He murmured, stroking himself as he watched Q pine for release. “Fuck…” he groaned; coming in hot spurts across Q’s stomach and chest. It was too much.

“Sir, please!” Q howled, Bond reached forward and removed the ring in one swift moment. Q came instantly, almost sobbing with joy as his mind imploded with pleasure. 


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s a little known pairing, but I love it. Can you do some Q/Sherlock non-incest NSFW please? – anon

The world of the hyper-intelligent is not particularly large, and those within certain industries certainly cross over with incredible frequency; in Q’s case, coming across Sherlock Holmes was a case of being actively tracked down.

Flattering, in a sense, despite Sherlock’s non-existent people skills and exceptionally poor communication skills when it came to general flirting; it was both amusing and alarming in equal measure, to realise that Sherlock Holmes was honest-to-god attempting to flirt.

Q had very little time for flirting, as a general pastime. He slammed Sherlock into a wall and kissed him breathless, instead. “Dinner?” Sherlock rasped into Q’s mouth.

“It would seem like the logical progression from this, yes,” Q returned drily, and proceeding to whine as Sherlock’s somewhat inexperienced hands tracked up and down his body.

The door started to open. Sherlock pushed Q down behind his armchair as John walked in.

Q was having none of it, and wrenched Sherlock down to join him, continuing to snog him while John Watson stood in utter horror, watching legs twining behind Sherlock’s armchair, shopping bag cutting into his palm, Sherlock letting out a low moan at a pitch so sensuous it was probably illegal.

In the grand scheme of things, Sherlock had done weirder. By the look of it, this one was male. And not Mary’s ex-best-friend. And Sherlock was exploring sexuality. Which had to be good.

John had never escaped the flat so fast in his life.

“Thank fuck he’s gone,” Q muttered.

In the time John had been putting the milk away, Q had got Sherlock’s shirt mostly off – a button was sacrificed to the cause – and his trousers were askew at best. Q wriggled out of his own cardigan and shirt without hesitation. “ _Bedroom_ ,” Sherlock told him huskily.

Q couldn’t have agreed more.

Sherlock managed to practically pick Q up, dragging him in a strange half-lift down the corridor, coming perilously close to accidently falling into the bathroom given that the door wasn’t properly closed and Q was nearly slammed into it, Sherlock’s hands possessive and surprisingly ungainly, Q’s more practised and a little defter.

When finally they managed to make their way to the bed, Q was already hard. Reaching for his trousers, he managed to get the most of the way off – Sherlock meanwhile was looking down at his own groin in relative amazement.

Q paused.

“Everything…alright?” he asked, as Sherlock’s gaze snapped up.

“I have not been this erect, this quickly in living memory. Something to note for future,” Sherlock informed him. Q smirked, debating whether to laugh or roll his eyes. He settled instead for moving between Sherlock’s thighs and mouthing said erection through the thin fabric of Sherlock’s pants. The detective let out an odd squawking sound, not one of his sexiest, as Q yanked down his boxers and swallowed him down.

“Yes that, that please, more of that,” Sherlock was mumbling, a hair snaking down into Q’s hair as he bobbed up and down along his shaft. Q smirked, loving the feel of the man between his lips. Pulling away, he looked up.

“Top or bottom?” he asked, as Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Not necessarily for today!” Q amended, hands raised. “But perhaps for future reference…”

“I tend not to align myself too heavily with either, however with you I believe ‘topping’ would be preferable,” Sherlock informed him breathlessly.

“Good to know,” Q replied wickedly, moving back and licking a stripe up Sherlock’s erection. The garbled whine was gratitude enough. Q moved upwards, until he lay on top of the other man, their bodies pressed closely together. In this moment, Sherlock took the lead, kissing him passionately (though Q would wonder later if it was simple curiosity to find out what his own pre-come tasted of; with Sherlock, it could always be either).

Reaching down, Sherlock took both of them in hand – violinist hands, Q remembered- and began to stroke them together. This time it was Q’s turn to let out an ungainly whine, as Sherlock’s pace increased.

Soon they were grinding together, hurtling towards orgasm in a sweaty race of moans and gasps. Sherlock came first, spilling across the pair of them; still his hand remained on Q, until the younger man bucked and whimpered into orgasm.


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people, I know it’s not usual for you, but I’d love so see some power bottom Bond. And Q being more than happy with that. pleaseeee? – anon

Bond was a man who had tried things Q had only ever seen as categories on a porn website; when Q had first seen Bond’s vast and varied collection from plugs to beads to an impressive size vibe, it had taken him a moment or ten to piece it together.

"You bottom?" Q managed, more than a little shocked.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Not a problem, is it?” he asked, a little bit drily. “I always did enjoy it. It’s a good physical experience.”

"Yes, I know," Q replied slowly. "I mean, erm… I like both, but…"

"So do I. But I’d like to try bottoming with you primarily, if you wouldn’t mind."

Q tried to make thoughts happen coherently again. “Of course. Christ, yes! That would be… Wow,” he managed, looking over at Bond with a mixture of awe and arousal.

He was thus rather surprised when the man lifted him and pinned him to the bed

"I bottom Q, I didn’t say I subbed," Bond told him smoothly as Q caught his breath.

Q felt the man’s arse grind against him, gasping for breath: “Oh  _fuck_ ,” he mumbled.

It was a hell of an experience, Bond kissing him ferociously, spinning Q around so the slighter man was lying on top of Bond. “You feel that?” Bond asked teasingly, reaching for Q’s cock, stroking along it.

"Yeah," Q moaned in a wonderfully undignified fashion.

"All mine," Bond murmured possessively. "Can’t wait to feel you inside me. God, Q."

There was less talking from then on as they ground together, ridding themselves of irritating trousers and pants. Bond took them both in hand, rubbing along the line of Q’s cock with his own.

Taking Q’s hand, he moved it to his own entrance.

"Come on, I want to feel you," Bond purred, reaching for the lube.

Q pressed eagerly, cool gel slipping across his fingers, easing his way into Bond’s body. Bond, meanwhile, still rubbed their bodies together, wrapping his hand around Q as the younger man eased fingers into him.

"How does it feel?" Bond demanded, moaning at the stretch.

Q let out a small sound of satisfaction. “You’re…” he managed, “tight, it’s going to feel… amazing…”

“Good, I should think so,” the older agent smirked. “Come on Q, more. I can take it, come on.”

Q was gasping, breathless and more than content as he slid into the older man’s body. “ _Oh my god_ ,” he managed, voice half-strangled. “You… fuck, James, I… are you alright, I mean?”

_“_ Yes,” Bond growled at him, arse rising to meet Q’s motions, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as he relaxed, settled. “Now,  _move._ ”

Bond’s words sank into everything Q was: he didn’t hesitate, drawing back and pushing in again, setting up a rhythm, unable to quite believe that he was balls-deep in James bloody Bond, secret agent and womaniser extraordinaire, and Q’s life had officially taken a too-bizarre turn and he was just  _not going to question_  in the slightest because this was too fucking brilliant to ask too many questions in case it vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Perfect,” Bond told him, voice low ridiculously low, sensual, and how in the ever-loving fuck was the man so composed. “God yes, Q. Fuck,  _yes_.”

Q’s fingers were white on Bond’s hips, and Bond let out an abrupt gasp as he tipped over the edge without a single touch from Q, the shudders sending Q over an instant later.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I looove all of your 00Q, but I also love Moneypenny! Could you guys write a scene where she walks in on the two of them gettin’ busy? (Also, feel free to ignore this if it’s already been done, I do remember vaguely reading something like this before.)Thanks! Xx – naomsharris

It had been a very long day for everybody in MI6; international crises always seemed to time themselves for weekends, which was frankly just a pain in the arse for all concerned. Eve had been really looking for a Saturday night out and a lie-in on Sunday, which naturally meant that all hell broke loose on a Friday at half past ten and she then spent the weekend on a campbed and hating the world.

Bond arrived back from India on the Sunday morning looking tanned and gorgeous and battered, waving briefly at Eve before heading to Q-branch.

Eve, meanwhile, had to deal with yet more panicky agents and minions and variations, all bleating about the infinite number of things that seemed to have broken in a short space of time, while Q downstairs was working terrifyingly hard with his jaw set in a dangerously firm line and M tried to keep control of a situation that seemed to be slipping out of his grasp.

Except that it wasn’t. And when it ended, it seemed irritatingly anticlimactic.

This was where, ironically, Eve’s job became really important and very high-intensity. Paperwork. Covering the problems of the preceding few days and ensuring that the clockwork form of MI6 remained intact. It was the few days when she and Tanner bonded something chronic and had a very large number of drinks afterwards, given that only Tanner matched her for workload after nightmarish incidents.

Q stopped answering his phone.

Eve needed him. Q was always supposed to be at least  _vaguely_  on call, and this made her job twice as difficult, and so Eve was heading to Q-branch to unashamedly bite his head off for being an irritating bastard and making her life harder.

Perhaps she should have thought it through a little better.

She  _definitely_  should have listened to R, who warned her that Q probably didn’t want to disturbed.

Because when she stormed into Q’s office, she found the Quartermaster bent over his own desk, Bond balls-deep in his arse, Q spewing some of the filthiest talk Eve had heard in her life  _deeper, fuck me like the whore I am_  and Bond was making obscene noises and tugging on Q’s cock.

Eve blankly stared for a moment.

“I want you to phone up as soon as you’re done,” she said over their grunts; Q made a startled sound, Bond barely paused, and Eve left them to it.

R was watching with mild horror and utter amusement. “Good view?” she asked teasingly.

Eve glared, before just rolling her eyes, and moaning to herself. “I hate everything,” she said simply, and headed back up to her office, horny and in need of a nap.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG! I adore you guys! I absolutely LOVE your 00q fics! I know it may sound creepy, but when you have time could you perhaps do a fill where Bond ties Q up has ice cream sex? – anon

Q’s wrists were bound above his head, body splayed against the bed, soft and cushioned. “James…”

“Shh,” he soothed, sliding a blindfold over Q’s eyes.

A shiver of arousal spasmed through Q’s body, blinded and feeling the delicacy of Bond’s fingers; he trickled along Q’s ribcage, tongue flicking over Q’s nipple, goosebumps rising over inch of exposed skin. “How does that feel?” he purred, pressing lower along his abdomen, teasing.

Q let out a whine of want, of encouragement.

Which was the point at which something unbelievably cold came in contact with Q’s stomach.

“ _Shit_ ,” he said abruptly, gasping in air. “James, what’re you…”

“Open your mouth.”

There was a moment of definite hesitation. This was weird. This was very weird indeed.

Ultimately, Q trusted Bond to not do something entirely out of line.

Thus, he opened his mouth.

A moment later, the same coldness assaulted his mouth, frozen creaminess coating his lips, his mouth. “ _Oh_ ,” Q said abruptly, swallowing, tasting vanilla and caramel, giggling slightly at the oddness. “More!”

Bond was chuckling, drew a line of ice cream along Q’s sternum, licking it up again; the warmth, roughness, against the half-frozen liquid coating him. The ice cream left a curious stickiness, a tacky feeling that Bond’s tongue couldn’t alleviate.

The coldness tracked lower.

“Fuck,” Q mumbled, as Bond sucked, licked, played with the muscle across his abdomen. “More, James,  _more_.”

A sudden movement, and heat covered Q’s cock, wet and in motion, sucking along the length before warmth flicked over his balls, along his perineum; a blow of air, the wetness turning colder, before another dribble of ice cream.

A kiss against Q’s lips, replaced a moment later by a spoon, by ice cream trickling into his mouth.

There was  _so much_  going on, everywhere at once, and when Bond started to blow him again – mouth cooled by ice cream he’d evidently been eating too – Q simply didn’t have it in him to last very long.

-

Q woke up twined with Bond, nuzzling into his chest.

Everything,  _everything_  was sticky.

“You’re doing the laundry,” Q mumbled at Bond, who chuckled and kissed Q, lips tacky and caramel-sweet.


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please write Holmescest with bottom!Mycroft ! – anon

There were few things as satisfying to see his elder brother  _begging_  for release. He would whine and scream and abuse that silken voice; a voice more used to giving orders than receiving them. It was glorious. Not to mention the man’s slight oral fixation. Normally it would be Sherlock red-arsed and panting, but sometimes it was needed. An international crisis, a summit, war, certain triggers that would leave Mycroft in dire need of a good fucking. He needed to give in, the pressure too much.

Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.

“No,” he replied, stroking his own throbbing erection as Mycroft panted obscenities. “ _Language,_ brother mine,” Sherlock mocked, throwing Mycroft’s own comments back to him. “You have to _earn_ it.”

Mycroft looked up, eyes heavy lidded as the toy buzzed in his arse.

“You…” he tried, before a further press of the remote shut him up.

Mycroft would always fight – that was the endearing thing. There was an agreement naturally, safe words were in place and each knew the other’s limits, but for Mycroft’s sanity it felt as real as possible. Sherlock would appear in his office, the doorway to his flat, occasionally at the Diogenes and overpower his elder sibling. And they would end up here.

“Sherlock  _please_ ,” Mycroft managed, fingers curling tightly into pale palms. “Please.”

Sherlock smirked; one day, he would record that wonderful sound. “As you wish.”

The younger man moved forward, slipping the toy from Mycroft’s arse and sliding his own thick erection into his brother’s well stretched hole. Both moaned as Sherlock begun to move, setting a fast pace that was driving the pair of them to distraction.

Words were forgotten in that moment, both concentrating on the rush of sensation; Sherlock moaned, feeling the tight squeeze of his brother’s arse as Mycroft pressed down desperately, reaching the right points, Sherlock slamming against Mycroft’s prostate.

After a short while and a series of truly delicious sounds, Sherlock took pity, reaching around and slipping off the slim cock ring.

Mycroft came in moments, shuddering under Sherlock’s body as his younger sibling continued, filling him as he gasped to his own orgasm.

“Thank you,” Mycroft murmured, as Sherlock’s damp arms slid around him, holding him close and guarding him from all harm.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haiii, a 00q NSFW prompt woooo (because I haven’t seen one in a while). In the middle of sex, Q gets a call from M (male) to talk about whatever. Bond decides to tease the shit out of Q and with some denial, makes Q come while on the phone with oral/handjob, and Q has to be calm and pretend like nothing is happening on his end. I will give my first born for some sexy moaning and slight orgasm denial. – anon

“James…” Q gasped, as Bond lifted him onto the desl, grinding their hips together. It had been a long few weeks; Bond had been away and Q buried in paperwork. They needed this. Q let out a garbled moan as he felt his partner’s erection pressing against him.

Of course, sod’s law dictated that the phone rang at that  _precise_  moment, and caller ID noted that it was M. Q regrettably could not, under any circumstances, ignore a direct call from M; it was certain to be very important, and he would need to concentrate, and he had never hated M more than in that moment.

Bond looked frankly insulted.

“Two minutes,” Q promised, and picked up the phone: “Q. What happened?”

M was speaking rapidly, and Q’s eyebrows furrowed before relaxing, rolling his eyes; he mouthed  _not important_  to Bond, with an expression of simple apology, and made the right noises at the right times and hoped M would let it end as much as possible.

Then, Bond sank to his knees, and swallowed Q’s cock.

Q let out a surprised shriek, tried to disguise it with coughing, tried to bat Bond off him while supposedly listening to M bleating at him, and oh holy  _hell_  Bond was going to be death of him at this rate, this was  _ridiculous_ , and Q was inches away from fucking  _whimpering_  because Bond had always been and would always be extraordinary at giving blowjobs.

“Yep, no problem.”

Bond’s tongue swiped over the underside of Q’s cock, fingers trailing up his inner thighs to play over his perineum, and Q was going  _fucking insane_  and he was going to  _kill_ Bond but god damn it, he was going to orgasm first.

M was still talking. Q would have given half of his limbs for him to hang up. He debated citing signal problems in an excuse to cut the man off, before remembering that he was on a landline.

Bond hollowed out his cheeks, fingers  _pressing_  against him, temptingly lingering over his entrance, and this was frankly ridiculous.

Maybe he could blow up the electricity generator.

M finally shut up. Q made a strange noise under his breath.

“I’ll leave you to sex now – I’ll email through the details of this conversation, as I would be very surprised if you’ll remember a word.”

Q flushed an extraordinary shade of pink, and decided  _sod it_ , M knew anyway. “Thank you – I’ll have a coherent answer imminently.”

He hung up without hesitation, and let out a whine of want, fingers knotting in Bond’s hair, bucking into him unapologetically and coming hard into his throat, Bond swallowing it and milking him utterly dry and Q’s vision whited entirely.

“I’m going to kill you,” he breathed to Bond, as warm arms circled him.

Bond chuckled, a low rumble, and just kissed him.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think your Cloud Atlas fills are wonderfully cute, which is sooo refreshing. Know what would be really refreshing? Some Frobisher/Sixsmith bathtub sex! Doesn’t necessarily have to be cute, but humor would be a nice touch. NSFW please! – lyledebus

Normally baths were full by this point, but Robert Frobisher was never one for waiting. There was already two fingers knuckle deep in his arse, and hygiene was damn well going to have to wait.

He had rarely been more grateful for Sixsmith’s private bathroom. Last year had been a nightmare; Frobisher hadn’t had a decent screw for a very long while, had resorted to an awful collection of low-lives that had been deeply disappointing in bed but were, mercifully, good for an orgasm or several.

“I have  _missed_  you, Sixsmith,” Robert murmured.

Sixsmith rolled his eyes affectionately. “Call me Rufus, Bobby, we’ve been doing this long enough.”

Frobisher could honestly say he had never cared less what anybody’s name was; Sixsmith was not all brains, had gloriously talented fingers as he worked his way into Robert’s body.

Still; nobody had fingers quite like Robert. Pianos and humans bent beneath his lithe digits, and Sixsmith was equally rendered fluid as Robert began stroking along his cock.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sixsmith murmured, a small smile curling around the edges of his lips. “I’ve missed you, Bobby.”

“I have a full name,” Frobisher reminded playfully, lips pressing against Sixsmith’s.

For all the men and women he had been with, Sixsmith still remained a bright light in his memory, his thoughts. Seeing his smile again, his bright eyes and the lacerating intelligence that a sublimated part of Robert’s brain knew full well was beyond his grip, it brought back days and nights of memory.

Corsica. Making love under a summer sky.

Sixsmith –  _Rufus_  – slid into Robert’s body with a sigh that smelt of August.

Music flared on the edges of Robert’s mind, a symphony. A violin soaring upwards, an oboe baseline – discordant and somehow beautiful – and Sixsmith was a cello, a cello solo with a vacillating vibrato, and  _fuck_  he was doing something extraordinary as he started a rhythm that surprised Robert with its sheer force.

Rufus always made love to him like it would be the last time.

An orgasm crested, toppling Robert over with a cry of simple surprise, Rufus following a moment later.

Rufus curled in his arms, and Robert stroked the top of his head absentminded, mind following the curve of a crescendo as the music sank into a minor.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um…i hope i don’t sound too weird, but could you write a fic where Q was a stripper before MI6 happened and gives Bond a lapdance for his birthday and bond fucks him senseless and Q cant even move the next day? – anon

He didn’t often ask about Q’s past. It was Q’s business, after all. The pair had chatted for a while, and Bond was dimly aware that Q had spent some of his university years in a night club in not too much clothing. He had been in care and government grants only got him so far.

What he didn’t know what that Q had kept the thong.

Thus, when his partner sashayed into the living room, he had very little idea what to expect; the music was suggestive and sensual, Q’s body slipping and murmuring through motion, sliding closer to Bond.

“Q…”

Q lifted a finger to Bond’s lips, and leant in, pressing a breath of air to Bond’s throat as he slid his jacket off. “ _Fuck_ ,” Bond managed, very quietly, as Q reached for his own trousers, carefully slipping them over his thin hips.

Q’s motion was frankly obscene, hips moving in circular slides, dropping his groin close to Bond’s lap, swirling, and Bond’s mouth had gone entirely dry.

Then he saw the thong, and was definitely going mad, because god  _damn it_  Q had a gorgeous arse, and his cock was covered in an unbelievably thin layer of fabric.

He was also erect. Bond empathised.

Q began to slide into the realms of what only  _extremely_  expensive lap dancers and strippers did: slowly dropping down to his knees, still in motion, lips a perfect pink-red as he leaned in, mouthing the gorgeousness of Bond’s cock through his trousers.

Bond was definitely going mad, definitely mad, and couldn’t remember the last time he had been so aroused.

Q’s deft fingers clicked open Bond’s flies, and Bond obligingly stood up to let Q roll them down. “Q, I…”

Without any warning, Q swallowed him down.

It had to be said; Q wasn’t the most adept with oral. He more than made up for it with the rest of him, hands roaming along Bond’s thighs, tracking towards his groin, fingers delving around Bond’s entrance teasingly. “ _Again_ ,” Bond asked, voice rasping.

Q didn’t quite oblige. He  _improved_  on it, and Bond was making a rather extraordinary noise under his breath while Q pulled back, still moving with the music and sliding backwards, his erect cock standing to attention in the ridiculous and beautiful thong.

Fuck, he had a gorgeous arse.

Bond’s eyes rolled back as Q took him as deep as he could go.

“My  _god_ ,” Bond managed, as Q’s fingers – and good lord, Q had phenomenally talented fingers – slid over his perineum, his entrance, darting in and out and Bond had absolutely no warning before, with a shout, he came into Q’s mouth.

Q slid back, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Enjoy?” he asked lightly, as Bond remained utterly speechless.

Bond pulled him up and kissed him violently, hand slipping to Q’s groin, fully intending to reciprocate in every way imaginable.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom!Q who makes sub!bond give him a blowjob. – anon

Q was utterly gorgeous, nearly entirely naked, with an honest-to-god riding crop in his hands. “You’re going to behave yourself, yes?”

Bond’s mouth was utterly dry. “Yes.”

A sharp smack with the riding crop, and Bond all but  _purred_.

“Yes,  _sir._ ”

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond’s slightly sarcastic emphasis, delivered another sharp hit. “Try again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better,” Q nodded, without much mercy. “On your knees.”

Bond didn’t hesitate, knees cracking slightly as he hit the ground. Q looked both pleased and amused in equal measure. “You’re getting there,” he said drily. “Now, show me that you’re worth this sort of attention, hmm?”

“Yes sir.”  
Q’s cock was fairly hard already; Bond’s mouth, his breath, hot against the fabric of his boxers was enough to make it stand to full attention. Bond mouthed the contours carefully, eyes sharp and blue and beautiful and Q smiled with quiet satisfaction.

Stripped, Bond was carefully still for a hesitant moment, looking over Q’s body. “Permission to speak?”

“Hmm?”

“You are beautiful, sir.”

It was unexpected and lovely, and another smile lit him up. “Flattery will get you  _everywhere,_ ” he laughed, and pulled Bond’s head forward.

Bond took nearly the whole of Q’s cock in one go, Q gasping abruptly. “ _Fuck_.”

Q noticed the way Bond smirked as he pulled back, running a tongue along the underside of Q’s cock, briefly flicking at the tip before sliding forward again, a slow rhythm finding itself as Q hummed with satisfaction.

Bond mimicked the hum, and Q’s breath stuttered in his throat, Bond’s throat vibrating around him and holy  _hell_  it felt good.

Orgasm approached with near-enough no warning. Bond just heard a strangled series of gasps, felt the shift in Q’s body, and relaxed in time to swallow Q down and tip him straight over the edge.

Q was gasping, afterglow pulsing along him while Bond crept up, kissing him gently. “Well done,” Q murmured, as he came back to himself. “And now, for you…”


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nipple kink (q has sensitive nipples) or knife kink! 00q? – anon

Q hissed, the cool metal pressing against his abdomen. Already he could feel heated pooling at his centre, right under the slim knife. His body shuddered as his lover moved higher, the flat edge trailing upwards, circling his nipple - taunting him.

Already Q’s erection was straining against his boxers, demanding and eager.  
Bond was so beautiful with knives. He had a poetry in his body that Q found utterly compelling, as he laced over Q’s torso, fascinated and dangerous in equal and lethal measure; he pushed slightly, leaving an ice-cold imprint that laced along his skin and raised it pink.

The tip skated the tip of his nipple, immediately making it harden in tandem with his cock.

Fuck, but Bond knew what he was doing.

There was the slightest of stings, and Q gasped out as he felt the thin line, enough to touch open the skin, along his sternum; Bond swallowed the gasp with a kiss, Q left breathless and keening in the back of his throat.

The knife skimmed lower, a touch of pressure against his lower stomach, and – in a move of deftness that was both impossibly arousing and terrifying – Bond literally sliced open Q’s underwear, slipping the knife edge beneath and sharply moving upwards.

It was certainly a testimony to the sharpness of the knife, and made Q’s throat close utterly.

“James,” Q keened, as Bond’s tongue flicked over his hardened nipple, the knife skimming terrifyingly lower.

Q almost lost his mind when he felt the handle press against his entrance. ”Oh god.”

Bond pushed a little more, just a little more, the tip slipping inside and Q was terrified of the knife edge touching his genitals but the danger was impossible, adrenaline setting his nerves on fire.

Bond’s tongue flicked the slit of Q’s cock. Q hadn’t realised his eyes were closed until that moment, and startled as his body buckled upwards; mercifully, Bond had had the foresight to get the knife well out of the way.

Abruptly, Bond had taken Q right into his mouth, and Q let out a garbled sound.

A blunt presence at his entrance, Bond’s mouth around him, the sting of the slice along his sternum and Q lost his mind in a heartbeat and came messily without any warning and with his eyes rolling back in his skull, gasping out at an absurd pitch as his body arched to an impressive angle.

Q could honestly say he had never come so hard in his entire life.

“For the record, only a finger at the end, but I’m glad it had the desired effect,” Bond murmured, scooping Q into his arms while he tried to remember how to breathe. “Good, I’m guessing?”

Q had no ability to speak.

Bond held him carefully, tenderly, as his lover tried to return to normality, and settled for making noises under his breath until such a time as coherence returned.


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a little overstrained atm, and would like to request some very nsfw bdsm psychopath!Bond and Q (perhaps not entirely consensual?) Sorry to bother..- optimisticstorm

Q was not screaming, which surprised even him.

There was something about being taken so entirely by surprise that didn’t make sense. He had known, he  _had_  to have known (somewhere, something of him must have seen what was coming) but the act of it, of being grabbed and wrenched backwards, losing balance instantly and being so  _confused_.

Frankly, he hadn’t had time to scream, or think, or do anything at all. Bond was faster, stronger, and ruthlessly efficient. By the time Q had realised there was something to be screaming about, he already had a hand over his mouth.

“Stay quiet.”

Q did as he was told. Bond was like this, sometimes, lost control of himself and everything around him. Q was caught in the crossfire, and he breathed levelly and allowed Bond to do as he needed. He was Bond’s lover, this was him: to let Bond take out the darkest side of fantasy, and take Q with him.

(Somewhere, at the back of Q’s mind, he registered that there was something about it he loved. The edge in Bond’s eyes, the slant of mouth. The bruising grip and palpable danger).

Still. Well-meaning people were probably right, Q mused, as he was stripped in quick and efficient movements; Bond’s eyes were wicked and bright as he swallowed Q’s erection all in one go, and Q couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

People had been well-meaning once. That was his only remaining thought.

Bond was busy playing around his entrance, fingers probing, slick and insistent; Q smiled to himself as he let his body relax, let Bond delve deeper and gasping out frantically as every nerve in his body lit at once. Bond’s teeth dug grooves into his inner thigh, returning to his cock and Q was dizzy, so dizzy, the sensations drowning him.

“Good,” Bond murmured against Q’s body, looming over him, awful and brilliant. “Ready?”

Q nodded breathlessly.

Bond sank into him, and now he screamed. Screamed for all he was worth, his body on fire,  _burning_ , the searing heat of Bond’s skin and touch and fingers and the merciless stab against his prostrate, a grip closing around his cock, certain and confident motions.

The scream died on his lips as he came, harder than he knew he could, Bond’s laugh bouncing around him.


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Om my! Your writings are lovely! I was wondering if you could do a fic with a sex scene between Fem!Q and Bond. There really aren’t enough of that! Bonus cookies if it’s from Bond’s perspective! :) –anon

Q’s smile was beautiful, Bond mused, as he explored her body in as much detail as he feasibly could.

The collarbones, breasts, soft stomach, flat hips. Boyish, in a way, but in no sense unattractive. Face expressive and eyes wide, glasses to one side, demonstrative trust; she couldn’t quite see him, his face fuzzed to her, and she trusted him all the same.

It was that, rather than anything more carnal, that had inspired this moment. The simple fact of Q trusting him, in a world where nobody trusted a damn thing.

Bond’s tongue darted and tasted, delicate and harsh in equal measure; a score of teeth over her nipple, and Q let out a sublimated gasp that made Bond chuckle low in the back of his throat, tempting and suggestive.

“ _Do that again_.”

Q had a beautiful voice. Low and sensual, perfect diction, a sharp rhythm to the way words bounced off her teeth and reverberated.

Bond licked a long swipe along her clit. Q let out a strangled sound.

Fingers delightedly began to explore, delving around the curled hair, along the skin, the incredible heat. Bond always found that extraordinary, the  _heat_  of a woman’s body, the way he eased a finger inside and felt Q’s body seek more, contract around him with a quiet want she reflected again and again in words, in deed, in her mouth seeking his imperiously and killing him breathless while he made her moan against his lips.

Pushing into her, and Q’s eyes had gone curiously wide, staring as though to take in every fragment of the world around her, as though it would vanish. As thought Bond himself would vanish.

Bond reached in, kissed her with what he hoped was enough to make it clear: he had no intention of going, of stopping, of ever leaving her.

“Slower,” she pleaded, and Bond obliged, slow and pressured slides, and Q’s moans were perfectly musical.

She came with a cry Bond swallowed with a growling kiss, her body pulling him over.

In the quiet, Bond could feel his voice, his lips, form words without permission, without his brain really having the slightest involvement.

Q laughed, tired and sated and utterly  _happy_. “I love you too,” she said simply, and twined herself around Bond’s body, sleeping with enviable ease as Bond stroked her hair with all the care he had in him.


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey lovely ladies, can I request something? how about some JAQ, with Alec fucking Q as James watches, wanks and gives instructions on how to best please their Quartermaster :3 – anon

“Second finger, tease him with it, not too soon…”

Bond was unapologetically wanking, to nobody’s surprise. Q was past the point of noticing; his hands had been bound over his head, his body stretched for Alec and Bond’s perusal, and Alec’s fingers were dancing over him.

Q could barely breathe, let alone think.

Alec, meanwhile, did precisely as he was bidden; the suggestion, the press, was enough to have Q making a quietly desperate noise behind his teeth. “ _Please_ ,” he asked, voice caught on a whine.

“Scissor.”

Alec’s response was instant. The sudden surge of pain, the hushing kiss that Alec delivered in tandem, the tempting half-brush over his erection; Q was being destrung by inches, at his lovers’ behest.

Bond’s groin made Alec’s gaze flick to him, teasing and mocking and intrigued; Bond raised an eyebrow, and nodded back down to their Quartermaster. “Another finger. You can take it Q, can’t you?”

Q’s voice was utterly strangled, but the noises were definitely positive. Alec kissed along Q’s collarbone, pressing another blunt finger inside, deeper; Q’s eyes shot open, wide and frantic, finding Alec’s gaze, _pleading_  for more.

Alec couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried, and Bond agreed wholeheartedly. Alec withdrew his slick fingers, briefly swiping along Q’s cock before tightening fingers over his hips, slipping into Q’s arse.

“Oh  _god_.”  
Alec chuckled, his voice low and treacly in Q’s ear; Bond voice rung out, perfect and shot through with want. “Do not move.”

The imperative sank into Q and Alec, their eyes locked, Bond’s breath, their breath, the only thing they could hear; Bond’s groan, Q’s small whine and the slightest of shifts of his hips, the way Alec almost choked on his need to be still and not respond.

“ _Please_.”

Alec’s voice was half-broken, and the sound of it made both Q and Bond inhale quite abruptly: Alec never broke, never begged for more, only if he was on the edge of himself. Alec was further gone than either of them, and given Bond’s expression, that was a genuine achievement.

“ _Now_ ,” Bond rasped at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, utterly  _entranced_.

Q’s voice soared, as Alec pulled back, and started to fuck Q with all the suppressed want of a man who had wanted so badly, so acutely, it had taken him over quite entirely. 


	87. Chapter 87

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha!Bond and alpha!Q are in a relationship. Q has always considered himself to be more submissive than dominant, but submitting sexually to another alpha still goes against every instinct he has. Luckily for him, Bond is perfect at taking him down - pushing and forcing when needed, but also caring and loving (like one would treat a sub/an omega) when Q gets far enough to want/accept it. Thanks for all your lovely fills bbs! <3 – anon

Q had avoided relationships for most of his existence. A few betas and omegas here and there, as was standard, but omegas wanted a strong-dominant-masculine-type and betas didn’t quite understand the chaos of hormones that was an alpha. Betas were not sexually satisfying, they didn’t have that particular brand of chemical  _everything_.

Alphas, though.

It had to be said, Q really did enjoy the smell of alphas, the taste of them. Q had dabbled as a teenager – many alphas had – but the stigma was fairly intense.

Bond didn’t care for stigma. Bond didn’t care a whit for most things, especially other people’s perceptions; he seduced Q, Q didn’t object nearly as much as he probably should have, and wound up in bed with a double-oh agent.

Q had to admit, his life was weird.

“James…”

Bond had him by the wrists, holding him down, teeth grazing his throat. “You’re certain you want this?” he asked, voice a rough whisper in Q’s ear. “If you want to stop, you  _tell me_.”

Q was hardly breathing, mind buzzing. “It’s weird, I do and I don’t, I  _want it_  but it’s instinct, sheer instinct, I don’t know what I’m doing with myself but I  _want you_ , I want you.”

Bond was quiet for a moment, before doing something to Q’s throat that made his vision white out. “You tell me the truth.”

“Always,” Q promised, with a gravity that seemed somehow misplaced.

A quiet and unassailable fact: he trusted Bond on instinct, trusted with every fibre of his being and knew, just knew, that Bond would never do anything to hurt him. Q knew with the perfect certainty one was supposed to feel when finding one’s other half; it should have been an omega, and there was a small and relevant part of Q’s brain shrieking that he should try harder and maybe,  _maybe_  he would somehow find an omega but he didn’t  _need one_ , Bond was everything.

Bond’s hold was bruising and his voice gravelling, teeth along Q’s bottom lip with the slightest surge of pain and want, anticipation burning in every nerve; Bond refused to touch him, refused to do more than worship Q’s body and tear him to shreds in perfectly equal measure.

Bond’s fingers traced the outline of his erection, the most feathery of touches, and the noise Q made was obscene. “ _Shh_ ,” Bond breathed, serpentine and lethal, another suggestion of a touch making Q’s body arch with want.

Q couldn’t have made another sound if he’d tried.

Bond listened to the tremble of Q’s body, the breath catching in his throat, the desperate curve of his hips and need for touch, taste, intimacy: it was different with another alpha, the closeness so much it was all but smothering, everything new and acid-sharp and perfectly everything.

“Thank you,” Q mumbled, sated and exhausted, breathing in Bond’s everything.

Bond smiled into Q’s hair, holding him as he slid into sleep.


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE your writing! when you’re free, could you do a fic where dom fem!Bond makes sub fem!Q beg? – anon

Bond’s hair was tied back, letting Q see every aspect of her expression, the way she roamed over her body and touched, tasted, pinning Q’s arms above her head and whipping out a pair of handcuffs.

A small raised eyebrow, and an almost hysterical nod; already, Q was being driven entirely insane by Bond, and she couldn’t help but feel smug. Handcuffing Q was an easy enough venture, a merciful bedframe allowing Q to be hooked in securely and impossible to break free (supposedly, but Q was a deft little shit).

No words were necessary; Q shivered under her lips, Bond’s tongue ghosting over her nipples, her throat, her ear, along the ridge of her sternum and slid lower, across her stomach, further.

Q was all but whimpering. “Oh  _fuck_.”

A sharp slap to her arse. “Language, Q.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

“ _I’m sorry_.”

“Good. Now, would you like me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Again.”

“Yes,  _please_  yes.”

Q’s body was curling for touch, her hips rolling upwards for more; Bond’s fingers trickled up her inner thighs before finding her clit and abruptly rolling a sharp circle. Q gasped in a breath, throat closing. “Oh  _god_ , more, please.”

Bond obliged, and Q fell silent, letting Bond work on her, fingers and tongue and touch nd  _oh dear god_ “please,  _please…_ ”

“Louder, Q.”

“Please,  _fuck_  please, please…”

“Try harder, Q, I don’t believe you.”

Bond’s fingers were pressing inside, making Q’s vision all but white out. “Please, I’m begging you _please_ , please…”

It took a few more curls of Bond’s finger, pressing, circling, deeper and harder and thumb rolling over her clit, ripples through her spine and body and a screaming cry as she came with a harsh gasp, skin prickling, every inch tingling as Bond gently slid out – Q’s cry was mewling – and kissed her carefully, lovingly.

Q was still barely coherent as Bond’s arms curved around her, holding her close, Q’s arms released again with Bond kissing the inner wrists, so gentle it almost hurt. “I love you,” Bond murmured to her.

“Love you too,” Q mumbled back, eyes closed as she leant against her chest, safe.


End file.
